


Back Again 2: Nârith

by silverneko9lives0



Series: Back Again [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Coming of Age, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Interspecies Relationship(s), M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reincarnation, Unresolved Romantic Tension, prophecy fulfillment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-01-15 01:27:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 56,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1286050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverneko9lives0/pseuds/silverneko9lives0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twenty-seven years ago, Frodo and Bilbo fled the Shire and took up residence in Erebor. There, Bilbo became the King’s Consort and Frodo was given a prince’s status and a warrior’s education to fulfill his destiny. </p><p>It is time. </p><p>Established Bagginshield, Frodolas</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Can be read separately from "Back Again," but this is the sequel to that work.

_Doom is near at hand_ ,

_For Isildur’s Bane shall waken,_

_And the Halfling forth shall stand._

_To the Mountain of Fire taken, and cast within._

_Man once been, born again_.

#

The large Dwarf circled the smaller, axes clutched in his hands. The smaller held a sword in his hand. The larger attacked with a shout, hefting one ax into the air. The smaller dove to the right, blade raised to block the second ax and pushed it away, slamming his foot into the larger’s side. The lager grabbed his foot and twisted, flinging him onto his back before bringing his ax down on the smaller. The smaller rolled to the left and jumped to his feet, seizing the larger’s large arm around both of his and ramming the hilt of his blade into the larger’s side.

“ _Oof_ ,” the larger said. He paused, feeling the cool metal against his neck. “All right, yer done for now, yeh twerp.” The blade was lowered and sheathed.

The larger removed his helm. The Dwarf’s beard was a lustrous black. His bald head held permanent decorations to commemorate battles he had come out alive from. He picked up his axes and turned to the smaller.

He had removed his helm as well. The smaller was beardless, not even a stubble could be seen on his chin. The hairs he did have were on his head, home to an array of long unruly curls braided out of his eyes and to reveal the elfish point of his ears, decorated in gold rings and mithril cuffs at the point.

Jewels given to a prince of the realm.

He grinned at the other. “Getting too old, Dwalin?”

“That’s _Mister_ Dwalin to yeh, Halfling,” Dwalin snarled.

The Halfling snorted. “And what would my uncle say if he heard you address me so?”

“Which one?”

“Either one?”

“Well,” Dwalin stroked his beard. “Thorin could give me a wallop if he wanted. Bilbo, though, he could withhold those biscuits of his. I’d rather take on Thorin. Thank yeh.”

The prince laughed. Dwalin clapped his shoulder. “You best go get ready for the party, Frodo. Unless you wish to bring down the wrath of _both_ your uncles.”

“I’d never be so cruel, _Mister Dwalin_.” He ducked before the hand met the back of his head, running off.

“Yeh better run, yeh scamp!”

Frodo slowed to a walk once he reached the top of the steps. Two guards opened the doors to the palace for him. He nodded his thanks, entering another hallway. Save for the occasional guard or servant, the hall was empty with many doors on either side.

A servant came out of his room and bowed. “Good afternoon, Lord Frodo,” she said, ducking out before Frodo could thank her. He entered, removing his armor and letting it fall free until he stood in just leather breeches and his uncle’s old mithril shirt.

He went to wash his hands and wipe the sweat from his neck and brow before finding lunch waiting for him. Chicken in basil cream, steamed vegetables seasoned with garlic, and two rolls of bread with a goblet of wine.

He ate in blissful silence. Nothing but him and the food in front of him.

Until his door opened and a little dwarf ran in. His gold locks were braided along the sides of his face and his eyes were a bright hazel.

“Frodo!”

“Bíli, what are you…You didn’t run from Ori again, did you?”

The little one grinned sheepishly. Frodo set his fork down. “Bíli, we talked about this: I know lessons are boring. I know you don’t like them. But you _have_ to go to them. Ori said he’d talk to your Adad next time ran off and I don’t think—”

“BÍLI!!!”

Frodo winced and Bíli gasped, grabbing Frodo’s hand. “I’ll go to my lessons! I’ll read my books! I’ll eat green food! I’ll be nice to the Elves when they come! Just hide me before—”

“Before what?”

Frodo sighed. “Good afternoon, Fili.”

Bíli turned around, wringing his hands. “’Lo, Adad. I’ll just…be going now.”

Fili held a hand up and Bíli stilled. “You will apologize to Master Ori and clean up the mess you made in the library. Furthermore, beginning tomorrow, you are grounded. For a week.”

Bíli bowed his head. “Yes, Sir,” he said, leaving the room. Fili sighed, running his hand through his hair, the same shade as his son’s.

“He wasn’t bothering you, was he, Frodo?”

“Please, I’m eating lunch. So long as I’m not torn away from it, I’m good. Nice of you to still let him go to the feast.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t. Nor would Dwarka. However, Thorin’s insistent that the whole family be there. Bíli has to attend. Thorin would let the boy get away with nigh everything if given the chance! He’s a good lad but…”

“Too much like you?” Frodo said, taking a drink from his wine. Fili laughed.

“Aye. Way too much like me. How are you anyway? Excited?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s your birthday as much as it is Bilbo’s. And you’re of age now! You _cannot_ tell me you’re not excited.”

Frodo blinked. “It’s… _oh_.” He grinned. “I never realized! Time went by a bit fast. I mean, I _remembered_ , of course, but it didn’t really register.”

“You actually trained today. The _one_ bloody _day_ you don’t _have_ to train and you went and trained anyway. Frodo, you are maddening sometimes,” Fili said, slumping in the chair across from him. “Who’d you train with today? Nori? Kili? Gimli?”

“Dwalin.” Fili hissed in a breath and winced. Frodo grinned. “I beat him.”

“Oh. Now _that_ is not fair. You know what: I think he threw the battle. He let you win.”

“He did not.”

“It’s Dwalin, Frodo. I know my father-in-law. He does _not_ go easy on anyone and he doesn’t lose. He let you win. I bet it’s because it’s your birthday.”

“Don’t be an Orc, Fili,” Frodo said, glaring at him and stabbing the broccoli with his fork. “I may prove you wrong yet.”

Fili snorted and stood. “Happy birthday, Frodo.” he clapped his shoulder and left. Frodo shook his head, returning his attention to his lunch.

#

He pulled a burgundy tunic over his head before sweeping his hair out from underneath it, loose and unbraided. His beads and jewels rested on the table waiting for him. Frodo tucked the shirt into his breeches. He grabbed a comb and untangled the thick tangle of black hair on his feet.

He glanced up when the door opened and grinned. “Hello, Uncle.”

“When was the last time you cut your hair?” Bilbo asked, crossing his arms and eyeing the long locks falling down Frodo’s back just past his shoulders. When they had come to Erebor, Bilbo still held a sense of having not aged at all. He still looked so and many say it was the ring’s influence and its being still so near to its bearer. He had gained a little more paunch as expected of a Hobbit in a high position and his hair was slowly turning silver.

Still, no one who didn’t know Bilbo would have guessed he was almost ninety years old.

“Hey, no,” Frodo said, holding a finger up and frowning. “We agreed you’d not touch them unless I really needed it. That was two weeks ago.”

Bilbo sighed. While he wore braids in his hair and clasps befitting the King’s Consort, he had kept his hair shorter than most, letting it be no longer than his shoulders. To Bilbo, Frodo’s insistence to grow his own hair out was an act of tweenage rebellion fully supported by the rest of his family.

To Bilbo’s utter chagrin.

He chuckled. “All right. May I at least put it together for you or were you leaving the task to Kili again?”

“Kili, I believe, has his own hair to worry about,” Frodo said, holding out a different comb to Bilbo. He took it and sat behind Frodo, brushing out the tangles. “I think Aunt Dis or Uncle Thorin has him at the moment. If not Bíli.” Frodo grinned. “That’d be funny. Seeing him walk in with messy braids.”

Bilbo chuckled. “Funny, but far from befitting given the day. Speaking of…” He cut himself off, clearing his throat. Frodo turned around.

“What is it?”

“The Elves will be here.”

“That’s usually not a problem. What? You want me to help keep the family in line?”

“Well, there’s that, but…Legolas has been invited as well—I _know_ you are still angry, Frodo, but I see no reason for him not to have been invited.”

Frodo turned back around.

“You can’t keep avoiding him, my lad.”

“Watch me,” Frodo challenged.

The brushing stopped. “You _will_ act like an adult tonight,” Bilbo warned. “You _are_ an adult and—”

“I _won’t_ embarrass the family,” he promised, sighing. “But _why_ did you invite him after all this time? How did you convince Thorin to agree to that when you know that…” Frodo bit his lip. He didn’t want to think about it.

_…Annoying little brother…a spoiled brat…a nuisance on the best days…_

He dug his nails into his palms, trying to will the memory away. Bilbo weaved the locks into place. “It’s been a long time, Frodo. Don’t you think it’s been long enough? Maybe you can make things right with him tonight.”

“No.”

“Why not? Legolas adored you.”

“No. He didn’t.”

“How do you know he wasn’t just having a bad day?” Bilbo countered. “He has expressed his regret and sent several apologies since! How long are you going to punish him?”

The last braid fell and Frodo stood, grabbing his jewelry and putting them on with shaking hands. “I’m not punishing him. He doesn’t _have_ to apologize for anything. I’m only doing what he asked of me.”

“What? Never speak to him or write? Avoid him when he comes to Erebor?”

“I’ll see you downstairs, Bilbo.”

He grabbed his doublet, stringing his arms through the holes and leaving the room, earrings hitting his neck as he strode down the hall. Frodo wondered if there was time to train a little bit before the feast. The trumpet calls echoing off the walls informed him, “No. Get your butt to the great hall.” He sighed and changed directions, heading toward the hall.

“Frodo!” Bíli called, rushing to him and grabbing his arm. Frodo smiled, petting his little cousin’s head.

“Everything all right?” Kili asked.

Frodo shook his head. “Legolas.” Kili’s eyes flashed. He squeezed Frodo’s shoulder and gave him a gentle head butt.

“Stay close to me, then.” Frodo smiled gratefully at Kili and would have responded, but the doors opened for him and his cousins. He forced a grin onto his face and entered.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was kinda half asleep when I wrote this chapter. Let me know if there is anything I missed...

Frodo clasped hands with Lady Nes, leading her through the dance and around the others on the dance floor. Flutes, violins, and drums echoed off the stone walls. They switched partners at the end of the song—her to Kili and he to Thorin Stonehelm, heir to Dain Ironfoot of Ered Engrin.

Thorin’s auburn locks were impressively braided out of his face and his beard shined in the candle light, matching the grey of his eyes and his smile was bright.

“I have yet to offer my salutations and wishes, Cousin.”

“Please, I think I’ve gotten enough!” Frodo said with a grin.

“No such thing as too much,” Thorin retaliated. “Happy Birthday, Frodo.”

“Thank you.”

The music ended with the announcement of dinner. Frodo sat beside Kili, avoiding glances from a particular Elf seated on the left side table. He didn’t know how intently Legolas had kept his eyes on him, but he pretended he did not notice.

Blood rushing through his ears blocked out Thorin’s speech. He could see his uncle’s lips move and the gestures he made with his hand. And he could see him grinning at Bilbo, and the tint to Bilbo’s cheeks to whatever it was Thorin said. Thorin turned to him, saying a few things about…

Pride, honor, and something possibly quite embarrassing.

He wished Legolas would stop staring at him. It was distracting, so he glanced at his plate instead of making a fool of himself. Kili nudged him when Thorin sat down.

“What is it?” he asked. Frodo shook his head.

“Nothing.”

“Frodo…”

He sighed. “Legolas is watching me.”

“Would you like me or Gimli to talk to him?” Frodo shook his head.

“I’ll be fine. I just…” His hands shook in his lap. Frodo grasped them together, trying to still them. Kili squeezed his shoulder.

“You’re all right,” Kili assured him. “Legolas knows he has no right to come near you. Not after rejecting you so harshly.”

“I was a child.”

Kili squeezed a bit harder and released his shoulder. “I’ve not seen you love anyone else the way you loved him. Innocent though it was, strange though it is, since you are not a Dwarf, we both know he is your One.”

“Or maybe I have simply not met the person who can make me forget him.”

“You have met many who waited for _this_ day so they might try.” Frodo rolled his eyes and tore into the venison set on his plate. “Lady Nes, for example, is smitten with you,” Kili continued. “As is Thorin, Dain’s son.” Frodo scoffed and Kili punched his arm lightly. “That is what I mean: there are many Dwarves who have taken a fancy to you, Frodo. You dance with them, speak kindly to them, but never see them more than what they are to you: friends at best. Your heart is spoken for, though broken.”

“Are you telling me I should talk to him?”

“No. I’d rather he crawl on his hands on knees and kiss your furry feet before you should have anything more to do with him after the things he said to you. You were a child and while I understand his aversion at the time—”

Frodo did as well. He did not know it then, being too young to understand that the belief that love knew no age had some limitations, but his affections could only get Legolas in trouble.

“—He had no right to say what he did. He did not have the right to be so cruel.”

“Can we _not_ talk about it?”

Kili nodded. “My apologies. Look! Bombur made a cake. It’s huge!”

Frodo grinned. It _was_ huge. The cake was pushed in on a trolley, eight layers high, each layer with birthday candles pressed into each loaf.

“How many candles are on it, you think?”

“Knowing Bombur, enough for you _and_ Bilbo.”

Frodo whistled. “A hundred and twenty candles, then?”

“Most likely.”

“You know, he can’t do that _every_ year.”

“I’d like to see you stop him,” Kili challenged. Frodo shook his head.

“Next year.”

Two Dwarves entered with a ladder and Bombur presented Frodo with a knife. He shook his head despite the loud applauding, cheeks tinged pink.

“Go on, cut a slice. Might be fun,” Kili said, elbowing him playfully. Frodo sighed and stood, taking the knife and climbing the ladder to reach the top layer. He blew the candle at the top out and made to reach for it when it lit again. Frodo started, grabbing onto the ladder, held steady.

“Gandalf gave us the candles, didn’t he?” he shouted.

Bombur shouted an affirmative and he could see Bilbo laughing with his arms crossed over his stomach. Frodo blew it again, and again, and one last time before he was certain it’d not light a fifth time before tossing it down to one of the cooks and sliding the knife through the cake, cutting a piece and stuffing it in his mouth before climbing down and handing the knife to a servant who braved the ladder also carrying a stack of plates.

And sat back down.

“That wasn’t so bad, wasn’t it?”

“Never again,” he said. “ _Never_ again. _Ever_. Especially the candle!”

Kili scoffed. “You’re no fun. Frodo you’re _far_ too dour for a thirty-three year old Hobbit! Look, the music’s started again. You’re of age. It’s your birthday. _Forget_ about Legolas.” Kili stood, and bowed. “May I have this dance, my lord? Cousin to cousin?”

Frodo narrowed his eyes at Kili. “You’re planning something.”

“I’d _never!_ ”

Frodo rolled his eye and took his hand, letting Kili drag him around the room until he was laughing like a fauntling, almost tripping over his own feet in the chaos that Kili created.

“May I cut in?”

“Again, Thorin?” Kili said, feigning shock. He released Frodo’s hands. “This is…what? The _second_ dance?”

“Hardly scandalous,” Thorin snapped at him.

“Its fine, Thorin,” Frodo said. “Kili’s being ridiculous as always.”

“I’m _hardly_ ridiculous,” Kili huffed.

“You’re always ridiculous,” Frodo snapped back as Thorin led him away. “I am sorry about him.”

“It’s fine,” Thorin said. “I’m used to it by now. As, I am sure, are you.” Frodo shrugged. “I was wondering, Frodo, if you would like to venture to Iron Hills some time now that you are of age and the threats to your life have been lessened somewhat…”

“They are not lessened,” Frodo corrected. “Orcs still come for me once in a while and I have been old enough to fight for myself for quite some time now.”

“I meant now that you are an adult. You seem as difficult to talk to as always.”

“No. Not always. To you, I am difficult to talk to.”

Thorin chuckled. “Perhaps. Frodo I am extending an invitation to you to come and visit the Iron Hills if you would like. My father and I would welcome you with open arms.”

Frodo hummed. “I will think on it.” Thorin beamed, eyes shining before darting above Frodo’s head and he sobered. A hand touched Frodo’s shoulder and he turned around.

“May I speak with you?” Legolas asked. Frodo’s breath caught. “In private?” Frodo released Thorin’s hand.

“Very well,” he said. He turned back to Thorin. “I apologize. Save one more dance for me?” Thorin brightened at the promise and nodded. Frodo followed Legolas out of the great hall into the corridor. As soon as the door closed and they were engulfed in the cool air and the quiet, Legolas turned to him.

“How are you, Frodo?”

Frodo crossed his arms over his chest. “Whatever it is, have your say and be done with it. I did what you asked.”

“Did what…Frodo, I was angry at my father when I… _said_ what I did. I never should have taken my anger out on you. I _never_ wanted our friendship to end, _mellon nin_. Frodo you have always been dear to me.”

Frodo sighed, staring at the ground. He’d forgive him. He’d forgive him again and again.

But how long would it be until Legolas broke his heart again?

“Frodo, I am _truly_ sorry for that day.”

He lifted his head, glaring at Legolas. “I got that the first…what? _Dozen_ times? I _get_ that you’re remorseful, Legolas. I do. But damn it, Legolas! I _loved_ you!”

“I know—”

“No. You don’t. You _don’t_ know what it feels like to _know_ you love someone with all your heart, hope for a future with them when that love for them doesn’t die…only to…to be treated as though your very _presence_ is a hindrance and…and to learn they think you nothing more than a brat! To be _hated_!”

Legolas knelt, shaking his head and reaching for Frodo’s shoulders. Frodo shied away and Legolas let his hands fall, to rest on his lap instead.

“I don’t hate you,” he said. “I never did. Oh, Frodo, _never_ believe that I hate you. Why would I? How could I—”

“There you are.” They turned to the door. Thranduil closed it behind him. “Is everything all right?”

“Ada—”

“Everything is fine,” Frodo said, walking by Thranduil. “I apologize, your majesty. I should not have run off so with Legolas or without.”

“Frodo—”

He shot Legolas a glare. “We have _nothing_ to talk about. Enjoy your night.”

He entered the great hall again, taken aback by how warm it was compared to the hall. He closed his eyes, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyelids and taking a ragged breath.

_Why do I still love him?_

“Frodo?” He opened his eyes. Kili frowned at him. “What is wrong?”

“Legolas—”

Kili pulled him away from the door. “I am sorry I was not watching as closely as I should have been.”

“You did your best. It’s fine.”

“It’s _not_ fine. You’re crying again.”

“I have dust in my eyes,” Frodo lied. “I’ll be all right.”

_After all this time, why do I still love him so much?_


	3. Chapter 3

It was near dawn when everyone finally agreed to go to bed.

Fili and Dwarka left several hours earlier to put Bíli to bed despite the lad’s protests to the contrary, even when he was so tired he couldn’t keep his eyes open or stop yawning.

Bless him, he tried, but by the time they left, he was protesting half-heartedly through yawns while laying his head on Fili’s shoulder.

Frodo stayed up long enough to remove his jewels and outer clothes, collapsing onto his bed in his undertunic and small clothes, asleep the moment his head hit the pillow…

_“Frodo,” Bilbo said, “Stay here. I’ll be back by lunch.”_

_“All right, Uncle,” he said, already pulling a book off the shelf. He returned his uncle’s smile and Bilbo left._

_His smile vanished and his eyes focused on the script before him, elbow on his thigh and his head in his hand. The other hand pinched the paper each time he turned the page._

_Jolted by the creaking of a door, Frodo looked up. Legolas leaned against the door, eyes closed and pinching the bridge of his nose._

_Frodo’s heart beat faster and a smile pulled his mouth upward. He set the book down and approached, schooling himself not to seem overeager to his friend._

_“Good morning, Legolas,” he said._

_Legolas lifted his eyes and Frodo slowed to a halt, smile dimming. Legolas seemed calm as ever, but there was_ thunder _in his eyes._

_“Legolas? Is everything all right?”_

_“Yes, yes,” he waved him off. “I’m fine.”_

_Frodo didn’t believe him. Legolas was clearly angry. He didn’t know why._

_“Erm…whatever’s wrong, I—”_

_“I said I’m fine,” Legolas snapped._

_“I only—”_

_“What?” Legolas narrowed his eyes. “You wish to help? And_ what _can you do? You’re a child! All you can do in this moment, Frodo, is_ aggravate _me further than I already am. I see you as nothing more than an annoying little brother and a spoiled brat. At best, you’re a nuisance to me!”_

_Frodo felt weak. His legs seemed heavy beneath him and his heart ached._

Annoying little brother…

Spoiled brat…

Nuisance…

_He bowed his head, trying to hide the threatening tears._

_Legolas sighed and Frodo could hear him speaking, but what he said could not be registered. Frodo turned and ran from the room._

_“Frodo! Frodo, come back! Stop! Frodo, stop!”_

_He didn’t stop, only picked up pace, sprinting as fast as he could and dove behind a pillar when Legolas passed by, shouting his name._

He hates me _, Frodo thought, sliding to the ground and hiding his face in his knees. When his tears had dried, he snuck away through the gates and began to run again._

_The bells rang. What for, Frodo did not know._

_A part of him guessed he had caused a bit of trouble in hiding, but he didn’t care._

_He just wanted to go home._

_He wandered Mirkwood for a time, disoriented and lost until he bumped into someone._

_A Dwarven guard._

_“Frodo Zabadith?” he asked, bewildered. Frodo sniffed and the guard led him to their camp. “Prince Kili! Your highness!”_

_Kili looked over at him and when he spied Frodo, his merry grin fell._

_“Frodo?! Where is Bilbo? Why aren’t you with him?”_

_He couldn’t answer, just ran to his cousin and embraced him, weeping…_

Frodo woke and cursed at the wet dark spot on his pillow. He stood and headed to the wash room, splashing cold water onto his face, though it’d not do him much good.

He hated how obvious he looked after he wept. He was already quite pale without having to live in a mountain and his hair. Crying made his eyes stand out more, his cheeks rosy and his lips darker.

How he _hated_ it.

After performing his morning ablutions—though it was nearer to noon—he ate the cooling elevensies meal of ham and cheese sandwiches and a fruit salad on his plate.

He grabbed Sting and strapped it around his waist, heading to the training grounds. It was empty. Most had been celebrating late into the night, but he at least expected to find Fili and Bíli here at least.

Apparently not.

Frodo opted to vent his frustration on a practice dummy instead, slamming Sting repeatedly into the wood.

“What did he ever do to you to warrant such a beating?”

He turned around, glaring at Gimli. “I’m pretending he’s a certain Elf.”

“Too small,” Gimli laughed.

“Then I’ll pull out a bigger one,” Frodo countered. Gimli laughed.

“Or you could fight me,” he asked. “Advice _and_ training.”

“Your advice is shit,” Frodo said, but he entered the arena. “However, I will not refuse your challenge.”

Gimli jumped in after him, handling his father’s axes in his hands. Frodo raised Sting, the point aimed at Gimli.

Gimli roared, running to meet him.

Frodo jumped at him, focusing on his breathing. He ducked, dodging a swing from the right ax and parrying a blow from the left. He slammed his elbow into Gimli’s chin, forcing him back.

Frodo swung Sting to from the left to the right.

Gimli blocked with his left and slammed his foot into Frodo’s abdomen. Frodo gasped, backing off.

“You’re off your game.”

“Can I still blame the Elf for that?”

“Aye. I’ll also blame an Elf for each time Mum made me eat green food. Or you can blame yourself for not paying attention and get your head out of the clouds and _bloody pay attention_ to your surroundings. C’mon, Frodo, this is _child’s play_.”

Frodo grit his teeth and charged.

Gimli sidestepped him, hooking the blunt curve of his ax around Frodo’s ankle and tripping him.

Frodo turned around, glaring at the ax barely touching his shoulder.

“I yield,” he said.

The ax is pulled out of his line of vision by Gimli’s hand thrust under his nose. Frodo gripped the hand and stood.

“Let’s get lunch at the pub. I’m amazed you’re not still drunk.”

“My tolerance is quite high, and you should know that since I’ve been drinking since twenty with _you_ and Kili.”

Gimli laughed. “Aye, that is true. Say, when will you be heading out on your quest?”

“Not sure yet,” Frodo said. “Don’t worry: you’re still coming with me. I’ve not changed my mind and I did promise you would, Gimli, dear ol’ babysitter of mine.” He grinned.

“I think you’re mistaking me for Kili.”

“You’re _both_ my babysitters,” Frodo laughed. “Well, _used_ to be.”

“Aye: remember the ‘used to be’ and leave it at that. Now we wallop your arse on the training field.”

Frodo snorted. “Should I bow and call you ‘master’ then? Or ‘teacher’?”

“Well, I’d not be opposed to it,” Gimli said with a dark smirk. “Let’s get drunk.”

“I _will_ drink you under the table, Son of Gloin.”

“You can try!”

“I don’t try. I _do_.”

“Now wait a minute here, who drunk _who_ under the table?”

“That was then,” Frodo snapped. “I _will_ drink you under the table this day: the twenty-third of September, and you will yield to my superior tolerance for Dwarfish ale.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Laddie.”

Frodo stopped, chills creeping up his spine. He turned around, eyes glancing around.

“Frodo?” Gimli asked.

_Something’s coming. Who? Or what?_

“Nothing,” he said. “It’s just a chill. Nothing a good tank of mead can’t cure.”

“All right, then, let’s go. What was with Thorin Stonehelm last night? You danced with him three times! People have been talking all day.”

Frodo shrugged. “Kili thinks that he… _admires_ me or something like that.”

“Probably. Not that I’d get _why_. I prefer a bit more chest than you and he do.”

“Don’t go marrying a dame until _after_ we get rid of the Ring.”

“Well, I might have incentive to keep my head on my shoulders if there were a dame to return to.” Frodo laughed.

“Did Ara dump again?”

Gimli sighed. Frodo patted his shoulder.

“Good thing we’re getting drunk, then.”

“Aye. Damn that woman…”

“Hey, hey, hey, leave that for when we get our drinks!”


	4. Chapter 4

~One Month Later~

_Can we please talk? I want to explain what was going on that day if you will let me. I am staying at the White Fox all week if you decide to come.—Legolas_

The week is almost at its end and Frodo struggled with deciding whether or not to meet Legolas. A part of him thought it foolish and that he should let Legolas stew a bit more. The other part of Frodo wanted answers…

And the part that desires answers is why he now forced himself to wear boots (an uncomfortable article, but sadly necessary), a wig to hide face, and a hood to hide his curls, sneaking out of Erebor before dinner, and stealing a pony so to shorten the journey to Dale.

No one guessed his identity on entering the city and Frodo found the White Fox. Legolas sits in the far corner, recognizable because of his lithe stature and the gleam of his silvery-blonde hair. Frodo approached him.

“The seat is reserved, Dwarf—”

He pulled the wig down. “For me?” He asked. The hardness in Legolas’ eyes pass and he slouches.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

“I almost didn’t,” Frodo said. “But you said you’d explain what happened _that_ day and I would like to know. You have _no_ idea how deeply you hurt me, Legolas.”

“I admit I do not, but I can guess it hurt as badly as being ignored for twenty years. Even now you are guarded.”

Frodo crossed his arms, glaring at him.

Legolas sighed. “Answers then…very well. I was having a bad day, _melon nin_ ,” he said. “And I, like a fool, put my wrath upon you. My father worried about our relationship. There was nothing inappropriate about it, save that a child had a crush on me. And you know that I found it a bit unnerving myself at first. But by then, you were much older and still burned bright. I had thought it’d die, but clearly not.

“I grew used to it and was willing to wait until you were of age to reciprocate. However, my father,” Legolas sighed, leaning forward and leaning on the table. “My _father_ decided it of certain…importance to shove another lecture about propriety and reputation down my throat. ‘He is not only a child, but a Hobbit,’ he had said. ‘While I am fond of his uncle and, by extension, his people, I will not stand for an Elf of my blood to mate with a mortal and one so small!’ I was furious more on your behalf than mine. I did tell him I had no intention of pursuing you as you were then. I had every intention of waiting until you were of age…”

“That I can understand,” Frodo said with a sigh, “and can forgive. You managed my… _infatuation_ marvelously and I know you expected it to die. And I can understand how what your father said would have angered you. But still, you decided to take out your ire on _me_. Even if you were angry at your father, even if what he said was so horrid that it bothered you so much, _why_ did you think it was okay to take it out on me?”

Legolas sighed, unable to meet his eyes. “I don’t know,” he admitted at last. “I tried to apologize as soon as what I said passed my lips, but you had run off. I was scared; we were all scared. You nearly gave Bilbo a heart attack! I understand you were angry as a result and I will not blame you for being angry…but was this _grudge_ against me necessary? Since then, you never once spoke to me, Frodo. This is the most you’ve spoken to me since and I missed you, Frodo. No…I _miss_ you. I miss, well, _this_. I miss talking to you about whatever runs through your head.” He chuckled dryly, raising his head to meet Frodo’s and it’s all Frodo can do to not look away. “I’d even go so far as I saying that I miss having you braid my hair, silly as it made me feel before…”

“I thought I was doing what you wanted. Did you not want me to leave you alone?”

“At the time, I temporarily needed some space,” Legolas said. “But I never wanted you to push me away as you have. I never wanted us to become this estranged, Frodo. I love—”

A shriek echoed in the night, silencing the inhabitants in the tavern and cutting whatever more Legolas was going to say off. The same shivers Frodo felt last month, when he went to have drinks with Gimli, overtook him. Whatever it was shrieked again and every Man, Dwarf, and Elf took up a weapon if they had it.

Frodo pulled Sting out of its sheath, studying the blade. Not orcs.

The doors flew open and nine tall, black robed and hooded beings entered.

“ _Shire_ ,” One hissed. “ _Baggins_.”

Frodo shuddered.

They were _far_ from the Shire. But the only _Bagginses_ here were him and Bilbo. Why would…

“Legolas,” he whispered. “They’re after the Ring. It’s pulling them to Erebor.”

“How do you—”

“ _Not now_ ,” Frodo hissed pulling the wig back up over his face. Dwarves raced at them, shouting battle cries in defense of the Prince Consort. The men joined in after them, but whoever these… _creatures_ were, they were far more advanced in weaponry.

One attacked Legolas, and he dodged. Frodo ducked between the legs of one, embedding Sting into his back. The creature screamed and Frodo pulled Sting out in time to block another blow from a second creature. He spied a blade rushing for him and he ducked.

“Get down!!” a man shouted. Frodo turned to him. He was drinking from a bottle of alcohol and had a torch in his hand. He swore, getting to the ground and the man spat the alcohol into the fire at the creatures, which ran screaming and lit on fire.

“Legolas!” The man said, “We must go—”

“Frodo?!”

“I’m all right,” he said, losing the wig and hat. The survivors stared, awestruck by his presence. “Who are you?” he demanded from the Man. “How did you know they feared fire?”

“Later,” the Man, a ranger if Frodo guessed correctly, said. Frodo narrowed his eyes at him and scowled.

“No. Now,” he demanded. “What were they? Why were they after me or my uncle? And who are you?”

“Frodo,” Legolas hissed. “We will explain everything later, but right now, we have to get you home. You need to get…you know what and whatever else you need and we have to leave _now_.”

Frodo and the ranger did not break off staring at each other.

“You are Isildur reborn,” the ranger said.

“I am.”

The ranger seemed to have more to say, but he tensed his jaw and clenched his hands into fists. He radiated hostility. Frodo couldn’t blame him. He didn’t like much of what he had done in his past either.

“We will worry about this, later,” Legolas said, “That goes to both of you! Let’s go to Erebor. Frodo you will get your _things_ and we will be on our way.”

“Very well,” Frodo said, “But I _want_ answers _before_ we leave.”

“You will have your answers,” the ranger promised. “And I will ensure you succeed _this_ time.”

Frodo harrumphed. “I was trained for _this_ , Ranger. I have no intention other than success.” He strode out of the tavern, heading over to his pony, trying to fight down his annoyance with the ranger. Who was _he_ to question Frodo and order him around?!

He beat it down as much as he could and got a head start toward Erebor, as the other two would be on full sized horses.

#

Frodo barely beat them to Erebor, descending his pony and handing it to a guard who was, until then, speaking to Kili.

Kili seized Frodo’s arm, halting him. “Where have you been?!” he demanded. “Thorin and Bilbo are going wild with worry of you!”

“Send them my apologies then,” Frodo said. “Something’s come up.” He glanced over at Legolas and the ranger. Kili’s grip loosened.

“Elf, you have a lot of nerve approaching my cousin…”

“Save it!” Frodo said. “I’m more interested in what the Man has to say.” He turned to him and they approached, forming a tight ring together. “Before I take one more step, I want to know who you are and what your interest is in the Ring?”

“I am obligated to tell you _nothing_ ,” he growls. Legolas grabs his arm and glares before turning to Frodo.

“Frodo, this is a friend of mine, Aragorn son of Arathorn: he is a Ranger from the North, officially, however he is the foster-son of Elrond and Isildur’s Heir and heir to the throne of Gondor.”

“A debatable claim,” Kili points out. “Frodo, also, has legitimate claim to that throne.” Frodo didn’t agree. As far as he was concerned, he lost that right when he took the Ring for himself. Besides, he wasn’t groomed to be anything more than the Ring Bearer.

“We will worry about claim to Gondor _later_ ,” Frodo suggests. “Can we agree on that, Master Aragorn?”

“Very well,” he said.

“Can we at least _try_ to be cordial with each other then?” Aragorn gave a stiff nod. “What were those creatures that attacked us at the Fox?”

“Ringwraiths,” he answered. “Nazgûl, The Nine, they have many names but only one purpose: to fund the Ring and bring it to their master. We cannot wait idly any longer for you to take action.”

“Good,” Frodo said, a smirk growing. “At last I can be rid of the burden.”

He turns to a guard. “You! Go to Gimli son of Gloin and tell him that I would like to speak with him when the time fits best. Preferably in the morning if not immediately.”

He turns again to Aragorn and Legolas, lowering his voice again. “We will need a few spare hours. For packing. If you’re interested, both of you, Gimli and I will meet you tomorrow night, at midnight. This will give both of you the time you _also_ will need.”

Aragorn glares at him and he glares back. Legolas nods. “We will be there.”

“No one is to know we are leaving until we are already gone,” he said. “I don’t want anyone trying to follow us or stop us. That includes anyone _here_ , Kili, if you can handle that.”

Kili scoffs. “Please. I managed _you_ , did I not? But I will stay here and make sure your escape goes smoothly. Our uncles will not be pleased…”

“They will understand,” Frodo said, “Eventually— _Let them pass_!” he shouted at the guards who tried to halt Aragorn and Legolas. When the gates closed behind them, Frodo and Kili walked up the steps.

“You are vibrating,” Kili notes.

Frodo grasped his hands. “It’s funny,” he said. “I am both eager and frightened. A part of me knows secrecy is needed, but I feel terrible not at least saying goodbye to the company before I go and at the same time I feel I must go _now_ though I would be unprepared.”

“You made the right decision to wait another day,” Kili said. “You look pale. Have you eaten?”

Frodo shook his head. “I forgot to in the excitement,” he said.

“I will send food up to you, and then get some rest if you can,” Kili said, pulling Frodo into a one arm hug. Frodo glanced up at him and bit his lip.

He wished Kili didn’t look so sad.


	5. Chapter 5

The urgency he felt from the night before passed the more Frodo forced himself to relax, going through his belongings again and again, even when he was more than certain he had everything he needed. Gimli came in the morning, not having wanted to waste precious sleep and risk being insubordinate toward Frodo.

“Who are we meeting at Laketown?” Gimli asked. Frodo paused in his repacking and turned to him.

“A ranger named Aragorn,” he said. “And Legolas.”

Gimli arched a brow, lips puckered around his pipe. “The _Elf_ is coming?”

“He might.”

“Why?”

“I invited him. Both of them. Legolas and I… _talked_. He is far from forgiven, but I understand a little more about what happened.”

Gimli hummed. “Do you have everything?”

“Other than the _Ring_ and food, yes,” Frodo answered, sighing. “I have everything I will ever need.”

“You _will_ remember it, right?”

“How would I be able to forget the Ring?!” Frodo snapped. Gimli glared at him, expressing his displeasure at Frodo’s outburst. Frodo dropped his shoulders and sighed. “I’m sorry. Now that the time has come, I am quite on edge.”

“You’ll be all right, Lad,” Gimli assured him.

“At least you think so,” Frodo sighed. “I’m not so sure. I’m…well, to be honest, I’m scared, Gimli.” He sat down on the bed, looking at Gimli. “I know it’s foolish to be. I’ve been raised for this. I’m afraid I might not come out alive. It’s a decision I made when I was old enough to understand that I might have to give my life for this quest if I must, but I’m afraid to die. Not only that, I’m afraid to live after this. What will my purpose be next? Will I have a purpose?”

“Well, you are Isildur reborn…you _could_ become King of Gondor.”

“I don’t desire that route.”

“Then do what you desire. If it be ‘eat, drink, and be merry,’ so be it. I’ll toast to that. We’ll have earned it,” Gimli said, grinning. “Live or die, the choice is yours in the end, but I will stand by you to the end, my lord. Besides, if you die, I don’t think there is a cavern dark enough to hide me from your uncles.”

Frodo laughed. “Perhaps not. Remember that when I start to despair and need to need a swift kick in the arse.” Gimli threw his head back and laughed.

Three raps on the door was all the warning they received before Bilbo entered. He scanned the room, frowning. “You’re leaving now?”

Frodo nodded. “Gimli and I will leave tonight,” he said. Bilbo hummed, heading to the table and sitting down. “Uncle?”

“Give me a moment,” he said. He looked at the floor. Frodo approached him and knelt. “You know,” Bilbo said. “We all knew this day would come, but I fear it came too quickly for my liking. You’re of age, and yet still very young. I hear a tavern in Dale was attacked last night. That you, despite having supposed to be _here_ in bed, were _there_.” He fixed Frodo with a stare so sharp, Frodo had to look away.

“I was there, Uncle. And the attack was led by the Nazgûl.”

Bilbo sighed, cupping Frodo’s cheek. “Are you packed?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have provisions?”

“I was going to wait until it was _closer_ to when I had to leave to get those. And the Ring. No point in letting it realize it’s time and start—”

“It already has started,” Bilbo said, lowering his hand. “It’s funny. I’ve not touched it in twenty years. It’s gotten quite easy resisting its call since then, but last night I had a…an unnatural _need_ to have it in my hands since last night. Never have I been more grateful for Thorin’s presence…” He sighed. “It would be unwise of me to be near you when you go to retrieve it.”

“I’ll come by before then,” he said, swallowing. He wished Bilbo wouldn’t make his task so much harder, unintentional though it was.

“You will come back, won’t you?”

Frodo bit his lip, bowing his head. “I can’t promise that, Uncle,” he said, standing and moving toward the window, staring out at the land cohabitated by Dwarf, Man, and Elf. Behind him, he heard the shaken, heavy breathing that came from his uncle and Frodo’s throat felt tight.

He wished there was something he could say to comfort Bilbo, but there were no words that could hold any weight. What’s worse, he couldn’t face Bilbo right now. It was a silly, childish illusion that Bilbo was unshakeable that he wanted to keep and he knew that if he dared to look at his uncle now…

He didn’t want to see Bilbo cry, knowing he was the cause and couldn’t do anything to assure Bilbo otherwise. He also knew, if he looked, he would be brought to tears himself.

#

Frodo approached the vault where the Ring was kept, a chain in his hands. He unlocked the box and stared at the simple gold band. Simple, but powerful and radiating evil he couldn’t begin to understand. It called to him.

 _You don’t have to do this_ , it echoed. _You could_ use _me instead. I will bring you power…_

Frodo heaved a sigh, looping the Ring around the chain and locking it around his neck and tucked into his shirt.

 _You betrayed me once. You would sooner do it again_ , he reminded himself. He was unsure why he believed the Ring could hear his thoughts, but who knows. Maybe it could. It was a magical ring after all.

The Ring burned cold against his skin from a long time of disuse. He met Gimli down the hall.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

“Aye,” Gimli replied. Frodo’s feet shook beneath him, but each step toward the gates grew easier and he managed to stand straight.

Outside, they fixed the hoods of their cloaks and their ponies await them.

#

Legolas and Aragorn camped on the outskirts of Laketown, awaiting their arrival. They were cloaked, simply dressed and there were packs resting on the ground.

Frodo and Gimli descended their steeds and Gimli slapped their rumps back toward Erebor. “Will they be all right?” Legolas asked.

“Elves aren’t the only ones who know how to train horses to find their way home,” Gimli snarled at him as they entered the city.

Frodo had not been to Laketown in a long time, but his family told him stories of their stay here when they came to rid Erebor of Smaug. Since the disappearance of the Master all those years ago, Laketown thrived under King Bard and his descendants. The water was undrinkable before, but since the dragon fell by Bard’s arrow, the water was little else but poison and would not bear home to fish either despite its “new” beauty. Esgoroth, at all times of the year, cast a silver glow in the day and black mirror at night. It was safe to swim and bath in, so long as no one drank from it.

In many ways, Frodo learned, the cost for a beautiful lake was too high. The lake was beautiful to look at, but too deadly—the dragon’s last curse on the people of this land. But Erebor, Mirkwood, and Dale found a way to work around it, quickly building a dam around the lake to keep the poison from spreading too far into the Celduin and other tributaries. The dam went from the foot of the Emyn-nu-Fuin (the Mountains of Mirkwood) and the long marshes to just after where the Lake flowed into the Celduin. The poisoned water in Mirkwood, also, was blocked off to protect the animals that called it home. True, flooding was often a constant problem, and many from the three kingdoms were, even now after nearly thirty years along with the Wizard Radaghast’s help, searching for a way to rid the water of poison to make the water usable again, even if just to bring it back to its previous state and be a habitat for fish again.

Until then, they came up with a new trade system. Despite the poisoned water, supplies came in bundles from fresher water in the Emyn-nu-Fuin and Mirkwood, reluctantly, agreed to allow hunters to venture into the forest to hunt and sell game. With restrictions. To hunt, a hunter would need a permit stamped in the seal of each king. You needed to have some experience with a bow (at least a year) or other hunting weapon, and know _where_ to hunt. There were certain areas that Mirkwood would not allow for any hunters to pass through under penalty. There was also a season: a three month period in the fall from the beginning of September to end of November to gather enough food to sell to butchers and be distributed. Grain and vegetables were grown and distributed in areas that were unpolluted: usually in Dale and in Erebor by Bilbo’s insistence in artificial gardens.

While no system is perfect, and sickness was still an issue in all three kingdoms, they managed without having to abandon their homes. Again.

“Your hostility is unnecessary,” Legolas snapped at Gimli.

“I can name a number of times before _now_ that could justify my ‘hostility’ ten times over.”

“He’s actually being amicable,” Frodo assured Legolas, stopping at the Dancing Faun (a less than kind inn, but good enough for _armed_ travelers). “You don’t want to see him hostile toward you.”

Gimli snorted. “You could lose a limb or two if I were _really_ being hostile.”

Legolas sighed, running his hand through his hair, muttering Sindarin under his breath. Aragorn patted his shoulder and they took their seats. Frodo knew it meant nothing beyond friendship, but his envy surged anyway and he faced forward, tightening his pack just a bit more.

“We make for Lothlorien at first light,” he said. Seeing their confusion, he clarified: “I would like to seek Lady Galadriel’s advice.” Aragorn and Legolas hummed an agreement while Gimli muttered under his breath about more Elves.

“It would be best to keep off roads,” Aragorn added. “The Nazgûl will be using them to search for you.”

Frodo didn’t want to agree with him, but knew he would be a fool to turn away sound advice. “If you know a way to Lorien that avoids roads and Mirkwood—no offense, Legolas—then do so.”

“None taken,” Legolas said. “I understand. I have a map with me. I may have stolen it from our archives.” He pulled it out and held the candle over it. “Crossing through Mirkwood should not be too hard. I know the forest well enough to keep us both off the path and get through safely. While best to avoid Dol Guldur,” he pointed at the Southern area of the map were a small picture of a tower resided, but if we cut through _this way_ , he traces his finger diagonally southward, we can avoid it. It’s abandoned again, true, but that doesn’t make it any less foreboding.”

“I thought you managed to rid Mirkwood of the evil presence there,” Gimli said.

“Evil has a way of lingering. We managed to purge it from the North, but I cannot guarantee the Southern part of the forest. For now, though, we should concentrate on how we’re to get around the dam. My father has the river there walled completely off.”

“So our option is either to go around the mountains or over it,” Aragorn summarized. “We won’t be able to cut through—”

“Actually we can,” Frodo said. “We don’t need to go into the forest just yet. We can pass all that and go around the dam.” He traced the route he had in mind which was on the other side of Laketown. “We can leave through Laketown, and down past the dam. True, it takes us too close to the road, but that way, we avoid mountains and we’ll have to cross the river anyway. The bridge is just faster and easier, and we won’t have to worry about dams or walls or mountains. And once we’re on the other side of the Celduin, we can leave the road and cross into South Mirkwood. It would be faster and less hazardous.”

“Pity,” Gimli said, “I’m curious about those mountains.”

“See them on your own time, then,” Frodo said, leaning back. “I want this quest to be done as soon as it can be. I’m not on any _particular_ schedule, but with Nazgûl on our tails, swiftness might be favorable.”

“True,” Gimli said. “So we are agreed that we take the route closest to the road?”

Aragorn hummed reluctantly. “We’d have to cut past the road anyway, I suppose.”

“I don’t particularly care,” Legolas added, stretching. “I agree that faster, the better, though. We’ve a few hours before dawn.”

“Best get some rest while we can,” Frodo said. He wasn’t sure he’d be sleeping, though, with all the eyes watching him, called by the Ring.


	6. Chapter 6

They shared a room with two others. Their eyes settled on Frodo. He didn’t think they realized who he was. It was dark enough they might mistake him for a Dwarf.

Still, gazes, normally, would have turned toward Legolas. Elves rarely came to the cities of Men, so for an Elf to appear, attention would be drawn immediately.

He decided to sleep on the roof instead, claiming the room was stuffy and smelled.

Frodo did not sleep, waiting for the Ring to call on their roommates, draw out their greedy courage, and to attack. He kept his hand on Sting, waiting.

Finally a blade tucked under his chin and a harsh voice whispered in his ear. “Scream and I’ll slit your throat.”

 _Put me on…_ Frodo breathed through his nose.

“Oi,” the second hissed. “He’s a Halfling.”

“Erebor’s consort?” the one with the knife asked.

“Doubtful. _This_ one’s too young. The other’s supposed to be in his eighties or nineties now.”

 _Put me on…_ Frodo closed his eyes, relaxing. He released Sting’s hilt and pressed against the first, grabbing his wrist and twisting it.

The man choked a scream and Frodo grabbed the knife, embedding it in his shoulder.

“Frodo!” Gimli shouted.

“What’s going on in here?” Legolas asked, poking his head in. Aragorn did not speak, holding his sword under the second’s chin.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Frodo answered, unsheathing Sting. “Just some thieves. Gimli, hold out his hand for me please.”

Gimli grabbed the first Man, pinning him down Frodo stepped on his hand, Sting hovering over the wrist before he sliced down, cutting the hand off.

“Frodo!” Legolas shouted, appalled.

“They’re getting off lightly,” Gimli assured Legolas. “Thieves are intolerable in Erebor. Too many have tried going after the Ring before.” Frodo cut the hand off the other. “Usually they’re executed on sight.”

“And so they would be if they were Dwarves,” Frodo said, cleaning Sting on the jerkin of the second, weeping thief. “But they are Men, so the most I can do is this and even _this_ may be overstepping my bounds.” He sheathed Sting. “They took their time, though…”

“That may have been me,” Aragorn said. “I don’t sleep easily and they were…”

“Radiating ‘hostility’?” Frodo asked, smirking.

Aragorn chuckled. “How did _that_ word become a joke?” Frodo shrugged.

“Every group needs an inside joke of _some_ sort,” he said. “For the Company, even now, it’s ‘brood majestically’ and ‘King Kili.’ There’s probably more, but those are the ones I know…”

“Brood majestically?”

“King Thorin has long suffered _that_ term from the entire company,” Gimli said. “Mahal! He’s getting blood on my boots!”

“You don’t have to stand on him anymore and be glad it’s just your boots,” Frodo snapped.

Legolas entered the room, avoiding the thieves on the floor. Frodo sighed, deciding to take pity on him.

“We’ll leave now, but I’ll need a parchment and ink to write a note to the keeper. Hopefully my uncles won’t be angry about this by the time we return.”

_If we return._

“Did you bring your signet?” Gimli asked, fishing out what he needed.

“I packed it last minute,” he replied.

#

Granted, they could have done without the guards hunting them down. But they manage to escape the city just as the sun began to rise, and paused to eat, passing around jerky and fruit.

Aragorn hummed a tune under his breath and Frodo halted taking a bite of an apple to listen.

“Is that the _Lay of Beren and Luthien_?” he asked.

Aragorn paused in his singing. He nodded.

“I thought I recognized it,” Frodo said. “You sing it well.”

“Thank you.”

Legolas snorted. “He sings it because he’s a sap. His beloved’s an Elf in…she’s back in Imladris, right?”

Aragorn hummed. “She is.” Legolas leaned back on his branch. “And she’s Elrond’s daughter…”

Frodo almost choked on his water. “Wouldn’t that make her your—”

“We’re not _blood_ related!” Aragorn snapped, blushing. “It doesn’t count.”

“Erm…”

Frodo and Gimli glanced at each other. Perhaps Elves and Men saw it differently, but blood related or not, someone addressed as “brother” or “sister” is usually regarded in the same was as blood.

“Suit yourself,” Gimli said.

“We don’t agree, but I suppose Elves and Men see this sort of thing…differently.”

“No, Elves don’t,” Legolas said, “But they really aren’t blood related and they didn’t grow up together, so most, save Lord Elrond, overlook it.”

“ _Ego, migo orch_!” Aragorn shouted at them. Frodo, Gimli, and Legolas laughed. “You’re all arses.”

“ _Goheno nin, mellon,_ ” Legolas laughed. “We’ll stop.”

“Speak for yourself,” Gimli chortled.

Legolas threw an apple at him. It hit his helmet, hence doing barely any damage. “ _We_ will stop,” he snarled. Gimli glared back.

“Down, Gimli,” Frodo said.

“I’m not a dog!” Gimli shouted at him.

Frodo stood and began to pack, ignoring him. “If we’re done, we should get going,” he said.

#

“…got them arguing among themselves,” Frodo giggled. “They were so busy trying to decide how to cook my uncles and the others that it took all night. Gandalf came along, broke a large rock to let sunlight pass through and they turned to stone.”

“Is it wrong to feel a tad sorry for them?” Legolas asked. At the odd looks, he sighed. “Perhaps I’m odd, then…”

“Your lack of hostility is disturbing,” Gimli said dryly.

Legolas glowered at him. “I don’t feel _that_ sorry. It’s just a bit hard for me to _not_ pity the idiotic. Such as a certain Dwarf I could name…”

“Oi!”

“Gimli, how about you go next,” Frodo suggested.

His stomach growled and he fished a stick of jerky to chew on. He guessed it was long past second Elevensies…

“Well, there was a time when…”

Frodo sighed, he heard about Ara plenty of times, but story after story about his One had Aragorn and Legolas laughing and Gimli, like his father, was just as passionate about love.

Still, misadventures in courting are often a good source of entertainment.

Soon Gimli and Aragorn are trading stories.

At least one of them could approach the ranger unguarded, Frodo decided. Even the more cordial conversations he had with Aragorn so far have been guarded.

He understood that Aragorn was Isildur’s Heir.

Let him do what he will with that information.

Frodo didn’t know what it was about him that put Aragorn on guard around him.

“At least it won’t be completely unpleasant, don’t you think?” Legolas asked.

Frodo looked up at him.

“You and Gimli get along. I am a long time friend of Aragorn’s. Now Gimli is managing to befriend Aragorn as well with silly love advice.”

“It’s not all silly,” Frodo said. “Besides, some of Gimli’s stories are ones I’ve witnessed in action.”

Legolas hummed.

“You’ve not told a story yet either,” he said.

Legolas shrugged. “I’ll wait until they’re done. The story I have in mind is…well, the only one I can think of is one I’m still living. I might choose a different tale.”

“Go for one when you were a child,” he suggested. “Maybe fumbling with your bow with the first time. You weren’t always so skilled with it.”

“True. I wasn’t,” he said, smiling. “Or I could talk about the time a little Hobbit went around a skinchanger’s house wanting to steal puppies.”

“I was _five_. And there were puppies. What would you expect?”

“Said five year old thought it okay to court me.”

“Again! I was _five!_ ” Frodo snapped, blushing.

He didn’t _really_ remember that day. But there were other days where Legolas would let him braid his hair and string flowers into it before _the incident_.

He always looked particularly lovely with blue flowers…or red…Preferably blue to match his eyes.

“And it’s not _my_ fault you look good with flowers in your hair.”

Legolas blinked. His mouth curved up into a smile. Frodo’s blush deepened and he turned away from him, glaring at his feet.

“Anyway,” he said. “We don’t have time for that…that…”

“I think it is called ‘courting,’” Legolas said. Frodo winced, hands curling into fists. “And whether we have time or not is entirely up to you. You haven’t forgiven me yet, after all.”

“No. I’ve not,” Frodo whispered. Though Legolas didn’t respond, Frodo knew he heard him. _At times I hate myself admitting it,_ he thought, _but I still love you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sindarin:  
> Ego, migo orch=go kiss an orc  
> Goheno nin, mellon=I’m sorry, friend or I’m sorry, buddy


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update! Expect more tomorrow!

Legolas scaled up the tree, scouting ahead.

“How is it?” Aragorn called.

Legolas swung down, landing on a branch. “I can see the Anduin _at last_!” he said.

“I thought you’d be sad to leave your home,” Gimli muttered. Frodo yawned, stretching. Three weeks of little rest and trees everywhere…there was the one exciting spider attack, but otherwise the forest had been awfully dull.

“My home is on the _other_ side, idiot Dwarf!”

Gimli snorted.

“Gimli, leave Legolas alone,” Frodo sighed. “We all know you do that just because you like to rile him up. Legolas, try to ignore Gimli.”

“If only it were that easy,” Legolas snapped back, joining them on the ground. “That spiders are around proves just what I said: evil lingers in the forest and the sooner we’re out the better.”

Frodo agreed. The spiders, though easy to deal with, could quickly become a problem in Mirkwood again if the Elves weren’t careful. “How much longer will we be in the forest?”

“At most one more night,” Legolas said. “We might make it to the forest edge by then if we’re fast enough.”

“Then let’s be fast enough,” Aragorn said. “I, too, don’t like this forest. There is a poison lingering here.” They followed Legolas.

 _Put me on…_ Frodo clenched his jaw and ignored the call. He dared not reach for it, though he itched to touch the Ring. Gimli grabbed his shoulders.

“Frodo?”

“I’m fine,” he said. “The Ring’s acting up. That’s all. It wants me to put it on.”

Aragorn seized his collar. “If you _dare—_ ”

“Don’t take me for the fool I once was,” Frodo snarled back. “I won’t put it on. I’ll never put it on. But if you think that doesn’t mean it’ll _try_ to get me to put it on or that it will prey on my mind, you’re _wrong_. It is trying all the time and it might be whatever has affected the forest that’s making it drag me down.”

“You’ll have to forgive me if I do not think your will is as strong as you claim it to be,” Aragorn said, releasing him and storming ahead.

“What is your problem anyway?” Frodo shouted. “I have not wronged you! I don’t know you! And I’m _not_ Isildur! I happen to have the misfortune of having once _been_ him! That doesn’t mean I _am_ him!”

Aragorn ignored him. Legolas sighed.

“Try to understand,” he said. “Aragorn has Isildur’s blood, but you have his soul. Aragorn is actually quite kindhearted when you get to know him. He is slow to trust and quick to judge.”

“So he believes I’ll give into the Ring anyway?”

“Most likely,” Legolas said.

“I won’t.” They followed after him. He looked at Gimli and Legolas “But _if_ I do, then let him do what he thinks is best,” he decided. “Even if it costs me my life.”

Gimli hummed his agreement, but Legolas’ face bore horror. He opened his mouth to speak and Gimli cleared his throat.

“It was Frodo’s decision to begin with. And he knew the quest might cost him his life anyway. He isn’t fearless and he doesn’t _want_ to die. He’s not _that_ reckless, but he decided that if his death was the price, then so be it…”

Gimli’s voice faded the further ahead Frodo walked.

He felt chills crawling up his spine and he paused, searching around the trees for anything that would cause it.

He climbed onto a rock and scanned for Aragorn. He managed to find him, though the Ranger easily could be mistaken as part of a tree with his ability to camouflage himself. Frodo jumped down, landing catlike on the ground, and ran to catch up so to make him pause and wait for the others.

He stopped, as did Aragorn, at the sound of a scream.

“Frodo?!” Aragorn shouted.

“Here!” he called back. “Legolas and Gimli are behind!” They ran through the trees.

“What was that?” Gimli demanded. “That was no sound made by any creature we here can name! Not even Orcs sound like that!”

“Nazgûl?” Frodo asked.

“Most likely,” Aragorn said, pulling his sword out of its sheath.

Gimli muttered Khuzdul under his breath, pulling his axes free. Frodo unsheathed Sting and Legolas climbed into the trees, sending branches down after him. Aragorn handed Frodo blade oil and reached for his flint, setting his sword on fire.

“This better not ruin my blade,” he growled at him, lighting Sting on fire. Another screech sent shivers down Frodo’s spine and he focused on breathing.

_Put me on! You could run! Leave them!_

Frodo shoved the Ring’s temptations down, readying himself for the approaching fight. _I don’t need it_ , he reminded himself. _I never needed it_.

Four cloaked wraiths step toward them, swords held in their black armored hands. Frodo could hear his blood rushing through his ears. His heart beat fast in his chest, trying to make him light headed, make it difficult to think. He closed his eyes.

 _“Calm your heart,”_ Dwalin once instructed him. _“Letting it race will make you light headed and will only help you get killed. Control your heartbeat.”_

He opened his eyes and aimed the tip of his flaming sword at one of them, breathing through his nose. Gimli attacked first, roaring a battle cry. One attacked Legolas, who jumped out of the Nazgûl’s path. One came at Aragorn and the last approached Frodo.

“ _The Ring, Halfling…_ ”

 _Put me on_.

Frodo lunged, swinging his blade at the creature’s leg. It screeched and backed away. It raised its weapon and Frodo parried the blow. The heat from his blade scorched his skin and he pushed back. The exchange continued.

“Frodo!” Gimli shouted. “Run!”

He shoved his opponent back and chased after the others, breaking branches as they ran. Gimli seized Frodo’s cloak and pushed him forward, swinging his axe down onto a Nazgûl that Frodo did not realize had gotten close to him.

“Gimli!”

He raced after them. Aragorn skidded to a halt and Frodo almost rammed into him. They were surrounded.

“Well,” Gimli muttered, “It was nice while it lasted.”

“Don’t be so pessimistic,” Frodo snapped at him. Sting’s flames licked and whipped the air. The Nazgûl aimed their blades at them.

“Frodo,” Aragorn said. “When I say, jump and stab them in the face if you can reach it.”

“Don’t belittle me,” Frodo said. “I can reach just _fine_.”

He waved Sting in an almost hypnotic sway.

“Now!” Aragorn shouted.

They raced at the creatures, Frodo sprung. His feet hit one’s chest and he embedded Sting into the hood. The creature screamed and erupted in flames. Frodo jumped down. His shoulder stung and he almost dropped Sting.

“Frodo!”

He saw a light beside him, and glanced. The burning Nazgûl were running. He reached for his shoulder where a dagger was still embedded there. He pulled it out and screamed, dropping the blade and Sting fell from his hands.

Gimli grabbed him under the arms. “Frodo, stay awake.”

He gasped for air and the world was growing dark and he saw shadows. Heard screams.

“Ara _gorn! Legolas!”_

_“What happened?”_

_“He was stabbed!”_

Frodo was set on the ground. “Can’t…breathe…”

His shirt was ripped. _“Legolas, I need athelas. Do you have some?”_

_“I do.”_

A cold chill covered his shoulder and he gasped, reaching for his throat. There was a bright, white light and he turned toward it. A cool hand touched his cheek and he tried to focus.

 _“Lasto beth nîn, Frodo,”_ Legolas said. The words beckoned to him. _“Tolo dan nan galad.”_ He was lifted off the ground. Everything felt heavy.

 _“Meet me in Lorien,”_ Legolas said. _“And hurry!”_

 _“Be swift!”_ Gimli said. _“Keep him safe.”_

_“Don’t doubt me, Dwarf. No harm will befall him.”_

He was running…No. _Legolas_ was running while he carried him. He recognized they had entered a glen and cool warmth may have been the sun, but otherwise, Frodo couldn’t tell the difference of anything. He felt water on the soles of his feet…

_“Frodo, stay awake, we’ll—Haldir! Haldir! Elia sé!”_

_“Mae govannen, Legolas Thranduilion.”_

_“Ennas na allû! Násë nahta na Ulaer ídh násë firië!”_

_“Tolo óni! Lintië!”_

_“Frodo, hold on!”_ Frodo gasped. _“No…nonono, stay awake, Frodo. Just a little longer, melleth nín…just a little longer…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~Elfish~
> 
> Note: I had difficulty finding a proper translator other than Arwen-Undomiel since most of what I needed was NOT there. I tried, but some of this is actually Quenya mixed with Sindarin. Tolkien is spinning in his urn more than usual with this butchery…but I tried. *bows out*
> 
> Lasto beth nîn, Frodo, Tolo dan nan galad=hear my voice, come back to the light. 
> 
> Elia sé=help him
> 
> Mae govannen, Legolas Thranduilion=Welcome, Legolas son of Thranduil 
> 
> Ennas na allû! Násë nahta na Ulaer ídh násë firië=There is no time! He was stabbed by the Nazgûl and he is dying. Please save him.
> 
> Tolo óni! Lintië=Come with me! Quickly!
> 
> melleth nín=my love


	8. Chapter 8

He didn’t know where he was when he woke. Were they still in Mirkwood? He blinked. No. It was lighter here. Birds sang freely and the soft breeze was slightly warmer. The air was clean and airy, not stuffy and close as it was in the southern regions of Mirkwood.

Frodo sighed and tried to move. His body ached and sitting up took more energy than it should have. He groaned, doubling over and gripping his stomach. He saw stars and his stomach felt as though someone squeezed around it in a tight fist.

“Oh…” He was shaky and his head pounded. He laid back down. “Oh, Yavanna…”

“Frodo!” Gimli said, laughing. “Mahal’s hammer, _never_ scare me like that again!”

“Gimli,” he said weakly. “Get me something to eat. Something big and meaty and greasy. _Now_.”

“I’ll try, but no promises. I don’t think these weed-eaters know what a greasy breakfast _is_.”

“I don’t care! Kill something if you have to, but I _need_ to _eat_!”

Gimli laughed and left. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Good,” Frodo said. He focused on breathing. He managed to turn on his side, glancing at a pitcher of water. He eased himself up and reached for it. His shoulder tinged and he pulled back, gripping the wound through the bandage.

“You’re awake.”

He looked up at Legolas and sighed. “Obviously,” he said. “I’m awake and _starving_.”

“So that is the reason why Gimli has gone to harass the cooks?”

“Most likely,” Frodo said, smiling weakly. “What…what happened to my shoulder, I don’t quite…I don’t remember.” Legolas poured him a glass of water and handed it to him. “Thank you.”

“We were in a fight against the Nazgûl,” he said. “You were stabbed with a morgul blade, which are poisoned. Aragorn did what he could to stave the poison, but the rest of it had to be taken care of here.”

“Which is Lorien?”

“Yes. We crossed the river a week ago.”

Frodo dropped the cup, water drenching the ground and soaked into the earth. “A _week?!_ ”

Legolas picked up the cup and set it down before easing Frodo down. “Yes. A week. You were healing. And you still are, so we are _not_ leaving until you are well enough to travel.”

“That is—”

“You may have no reservations about your own life, Frodo Baggins,” Legolas hissed. Frodo paused, staring at him. No one called him by that name except for Bilbo. “But I will not stand by and let you drive yourself to exhaustion and death! So you are staying in this bed until Lord Celeborn states otherwise!”

“But…”

“ _No_ ,” Legolas snapped. “Gimli, Aragorn, and I agreed. You are to rest and _only when you are recovered_ will we continue on.”

“Whoever said this was a democracy?” He growled.

“Whoever said that just because you’re the Ring Bearer that you are also our leader?” Legolas bit back. Frodo stared at him, taken aback. “Knowing the geography of the land is much different than having someone on our side who has actually _walked_ it.”

“You mean Aragorn,” Frodo stated.

“I do. Aragorn is a Ranger and a traveler. He knows these lands best out of the four of us, Frodo. I know his attitude toward you has been questionable at best, but he wants the Ring destroyed as much as the rest of us. He will lead us to Mordor and back without fail. I trust him with my life. The only one I would trust more is Gandalf—”

“Beef stew with hearty potatoes! And more chips than you’ll need in a lifetime!”

Frodo grinned. “Thank you, Gimli.”

“And the tree—”

“I was just leaving,” Legolas said, stepping away from the bed. “Enjoy your meal, Frodo.” He disappeared behind the canopy.

“What was that about?”

“He decided to yell at me,” Frodo said nonchalantly. “Mostly about how I need to heal before we set out again…we should leave in two days.”

“Is this what he was yelling at you about? You’re hastiness?”

“Partly. And my sense of self-preservation….”

“Well, it’s questionable at best…”

“ _Gimli._ ”

“Eat your food,” Gimli sighed. “Besides, it would be better for you to have as much of your strength back as often. That wound won’t _fully_ heal, but,” he shrugged. “It’ll _mostly_ heal, so the likelihood it’ll be much of a bother is slim.”

Frodo sighed, chewing a thick cube of steak. He swallowed. “Fine. And thank you for the meal. You just saved me from passing out again.”

“Well, just holler when you’re hungry again.” Gimli stood. “I should get going: Aragorn wanted my help with sorting out what we need in our packs.”

“We can’t be low _yet_ ,” Frodo said.

“And we aren’t,” Gimli assured him, “But it doesn’t hurt to make sure we have enough.”

“True.” He lifted his good arm and rubbed the back of his neck. “Again, thank you for the food and if I pass out again, hopefully, it won’t be from anything more than exhaustion.”

“It _better_ be just exhaustion. A healer should be in soon enough to look at your shoulder. You should be able to walk soon and get those muscles moving again. When that happens, find me so I can whip your ass back into shape.”

“I might avoid you in that case,” Frodo said, grinning.

“Then _I’ll_ seek you out and drag your ass to the arena,” Gimli threatened before leaving. Frodo finished eating, mindful of his injured shoulder. Once finished, he set the tray on the table and leaned back, staring at the canopy above him.

Trees blocked out the sun—a pity. Frodo sighed. When he was little, he spent many a spring and summer in the field outside of Erebor with his family picnicking. While Thorin, Fili, Kili, and Dwarka trained on the field, Frodo and Bilbo would lean back and stare at the sky. Bíli would either sleep on Frodo’s chest or Bilbo’s while they guessed at the shapes of the clouds or Bilbo told him stories of his adventures and sometimes of Frodo’s first. He didn’t remember much of it, being only five.

Bilbo told him that they had gone to Erebor for Frodo’s protection. Orcs were after him led by a particular she-Orc named Mog. They wanted to kill him because of who he was and he was known by many names: Ring Bearer, Isildur, the king of Men…

But to his family and friends, he was always just Frodo Baggins and he was a five year old fauntling then. Hardly dangerous. Bilbo explained that the Dark Lord feared him and wanted to annihilate him when he was still harmless…still _innocent_. But he only remembered bits and pieces of this. The only thing he clearly remembered in full was when he met Legolas and they became friends.

When they met, Frodo remembered being awed by the tall Elf. He was fascinated with the others too, and he was told that he had been naughty in Rivendell, wandering off with Lord Elrond’s sons and scaring Bilbo. But he didn’t remember that. He knew Ro and Dan, of course, like them. They had been fine playmates when he ventured to Rivendell with Bilbo once for his studies.

But Legolas…he was unique. His eyes were sky blue rather than the dark blue or brown. His hair was even a lighter shade of blond, almost white. His attire was also different. The looser attire of Rivendell offered the inhabitants a sort of comfort, but Legolas never gave up his form fitting clothes.

At that time, Legolas would let him ride on his shoulders and snuck him extra food behind Bilbo’s back. He spoke kindly even when Frodo did something he shouldn’t have. He let Frodo play with his hair despite how ridiculous he must have looked afterwards, adding colorful flowers into those tresses and weaving them into braids…

Frodo turned onto his side and hiding his face in the pillow. “I don’t love him anymore,” he whispered. “I don’t…I can’t…”

#

Three more days passed in quiet boredom before the bandages around his shoulder and torso were removed. Frodo stretched, eager to get out of the bed and walk around.

“Don’t strain yourself too much,” the healer said. If you feel tired, I would encourage you to rest. And _do not_ engage your Dwarven friend in combat for another two or three days.”

Frodo nodded, though he doubted that would stop Gimli from trying to catch him off guard anyway. Well, so long as _he_ tried, he didn’t think there was much else he could do. He left the infirmary and roamed the forest, ignoring the curious glances in his direction.

As he explored, a fitful restlessness clawed under his skin. Frodo tried to stave it off, doing what he can to rid it from his body: exploring, jogging, climbing…Frodo groaned, leaning against the trunk and tapping his foot against the branch he sat on.

“What are you doing up there?”

Frodo looked down. Aragorn frowned at him. “You shouldn’t frown so much,” he said. “You’ll grow old early.” Aragorn rolled his eyes.

“Aren’t you supposed to take it easy? I fail to see how climbing trees fits into that.”

“Well I’m resting _now_ , aren’t I?”

Aragorn latched onto a lower branch and scaled up the tree as easily as any Elf. He sat on a branch below Frodo’s. “You’re anxious,” he concluded.

“That’s one way to put it,” Frodo said, “The sooner I’m rid of it, the better.”

Aragorn hummed. “So I see. Legolas told me he told you that I would be leading the quest.”

“He said something about you knowing the land better than I. Which is probably true.”

“It is, but I am here to make sure you do not give into its pull. You did express that it…called you.”

Frodo nodded. “It does. It’s like…like an itch, a voice in the back of my head: _put me on_ , is what it says…I know you doubt me, but the Dwarves of Erebor and the Elves of Mirkwood and Rivendell have taught me what went wrong, and why and how. I know what my mistakes were and I know what I must do. I will not deny that it frightens me, but I didn’t grow up with hope for another option,” he said. “My uncle, the king, he was quite clear about that: failure is not an option. This is my task alone and I must see it through to the end, whatever that end will be.”

Aragorn stared at him. “That is a burden a child never should carry. I never knew about my heritage until I was nearly a man and certainly old enough to believe it.”

“I didn’t grow _up_ with that mindset,” Frodo corrected. “It was after a skirmish when I was about twenty that I was told this. In Man year’s that’s about…twelve or thirteen. I was old enough to take it. True, I did despair a bit, but I learned that despair would only ever get in my way and the Ring would take advantage of it. I was trained for this quest, Aragorn. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have the same weakness. Like you, I know to fight that weakness and resist the Ring’s temptations. For now…for now it’s down to reminding myself that I don’t need it.”

Aragorn hummed. “Odd.”

“What is?”

“We fear the same thing,” he said, glancing at Frodo. “How about this: we hold each other accountable. The Ring will torment both of us, of this I have no doubt.” Frodo nodded. “However, we can work together to make sure neither of us falls to its call.” He held his hand out. “In this way, we can put the past behind us and start anew. It’s a long way to Mordor. I’d rather we _not_ fight the whole way.”

Frodo nodded and grasped Aragorn’s hand. “We’ll fight together, then. No more fighting. And you were the one picking a fight anyway.”

Aragorn laughed. “I suppose I was. My apologies then. We should get down. Dinner will be served by the time we return.”


	9. Chapter 9

His restlessness was like a dull ache. Sort of like the ache one gets when they have sat in one place for so long doing nothing but stare at a dry history book in the middle of summer.

Frodo stared at the green canopy, frowning at the slivers of sunlight. The Nimrodel rushed by, water slapping the grassy shore and slickening the rocks beneath it.

“Have you been here this whole time?”

He turned to the Elf who named himself Haldir and sat up, crossing his legs.

“Not the whole time. I took a walk after breakfast, stopped here around elevensies and I suppose it is past lunch now.”

“You best not wander off alone.”

Frodo narrowed his eyes. “Am I not safe in the Lady’s realm?”

Haldir paused, tilting his head to the side. The corners of his mouth turned upward.

“I see why Legolas fancies you,” he said.

Frodo stood, casually resting the hilt of his sword on Sting.

Haldir chuckled. “Peace, Prince of Erebor, I mean no harm by it. I fancy women, anyway. I only mean that I like your spunk. Your wanderings off have worried your body guard and he was all but ready to raze the forest to the ground.”

Frodo slumped his shoulders. _Damn it, Gimli_ , he thought. “I apologize about him. He means no harm in it. Gimli is quite protective.”

“As he should be,” Haldir said. “You are still healing.”

“I feel fine,” Frodo sighed following Haldir back toward the Elven city. “I do not feel as ill or weak as before.”

“That is good to hear. But I feel he would worry even if you were not healing.”

Frodo shrugged. “Gimli used to be my babysitter along with my cousin Kili. Then he was my weapons master and now he is my friend. I’ve known him my whole life. He is like an older brother to me.”

“Then do not worry him as much as you do. Brothers should be kinder to their brothers.”

Frodo grinned. “Where’s the fun in that?” Haldir laughed. “I take it Gimli wasn’t the _only_ one who was worried?”

“No. Your other companions were worried also.”

Frodo groaned. “Worrywarts all of them! You’d think I was a fauntling with the way they treat me and not a full grown Hobbit!”

“With a Wizard breathing down their necks and yelling their ears off, I would be a ‘worrywart’ as well.” Frodo looked at him, brow furrowed. “Gandalf has arrived and wishes to talk to you.”

“Well that’s more forgivable, I suppose,” Frodo said. “Where is Gandalf, by the way?”

Haldir stopped and pointed behind Frodo. He turned around and smiled up at the Wizard approaching them with Lord Celeborn beside him.

“Ah! Frodo. You had us in a frenzy.”

“I was under the impression that Lorien was safe enough to spend some time alone.”

“Oh, it is,” Gandalf said, leaning on his staff. “We were more worried that you had run off alone with the restlessness that’s been eating at you.”

Frodo chuckled. “And risk Legolas shooting at me? I’d rather stay in the general area and _try_ to relax despite my, er, _restlessness_.”

Gandalf’s eyebrows shot up.

“In his defense,” Frodo said, clasping his hands behind his back. “I _was_ , trying to sneak out of the dead of night when my legs were still a bit wobbly and if he had any intention of killing me, he would have done so. Why have you come, Gandalf? If I may ask.”

“You may,” Gandalf said. “It concerns the Ring, but that is all I will tell this moment. The whole tale will have to wait until the council tomorrow, my dear Frodo.”

Frodo nodded. “I should find the others and tell them I am all right. It was good to see you Gandalf. I’ll see you at dinner tonight?”

“Most likely. Oh, Frodo, be wary of our guests: the Men or Gondor aren’t quite used to the sight of a Hobbit and may be slightly…aggressive.”

Frodo frowned. “I understand.”

He had heard of the valiant men of Gondor. And of their arrogance which rivaled that of the Dwarves of Erebor during the reign of Thror.

“Thank you for telling me. I’ll _try_ not to kill any of them.”

Gandalf snorted and Frodo walked toward the glen where the others were staying below the trees. Aragorn was there, smoking. He grinned at Frodo. “Where’ve you been?”

“By the Nimrodel,” Frodo said. “Thinking.”

“Hmm…”

“Where are the others?”

“Still looking for you, I suppose.” His gaze shifted past Frodo and his smile vanished. “Are you lost, Friend?”

Frodo turned around.

The man was dressed in leather armor. His arms were covered in metal vambraces and he wore a red cloak over his shoulders. His blue eyes studied us and his gold-brown hair fell to his shoulders. The tunic he wore over his leather bore the symbol of the White Tree of Gondor. His mouth curved into an easy smile.

“Not quite,” he admitted, I was exploring the forest a bit. I’ve never been to an Elven city, you see, so I was curious what it would be like.” He turned to Frodo. “Pray, what creature are you?”

“I am a Hobbit,” Frodo said with some resignation. “Otherwise called a ‘Halfling.’ However, I advise you to refrain from that title. My people are sized exactly as they are meant to be sized and are not _half_ of anything, thank you very much. As for my origins, I am one of the nephews of the King of Erebor. And my name is Frodo.”

The man did not blink at Frodo’s introduction. “You are the named Ring-Bearer? Isildur Reborn?”

“I am.”

He nodded his head at Frodo. “Boromir, son of Denethor. I hail from Gondor.”

“I know,” Frodo replied. “The emblem on your tunic told me as much.”

“Are Half— _Hobbits_ usually so saucy?”

Frodo grinned. “No. Just me. And I learned it from my _other_ uncle, who is also a Hobbit.”

“The adopted brother of your king, no doubt.”

“His _husband_ actually,” Frodo said, watching Boromir’s expression shift to one of shock and discomfort.

“That…that’s…oh…” Boromir stuttered. Aragorn choked on smoke, trying not to laugh.

Frodo grinned at Boromir brightly, hands clasped behind his back.

It _never_ got old.

The men of Esgaroth were quite comfortable with it. Even practiced it as the Dwarves and Elves did. But not _everyone_ was used to the idea of two males and many Dwarves had fun mocking the sensitivities of the Men who were not used to witnessing _âkh-âzyung_ or _imya yérëmë_.

“I would have guessed an experienced solider such as yourself, Captain, would be used to seeing same-sex couples. It is quite prevalent in the army. Or at least it is so in Erebor and the surrounding lands of Esgaroth of Mirkwood.” Frodo blinked and tilted his head to the side, adopting an expression of innocence. “Is that not the case in Gondor?”

“I…admit I wouldn’t know. They do say ignorance is bliss.”

Frodo and Aragorn exchanged looks. He looked at Boromir again.

“ _Dôl gîn lost,_ ” Frodo said. “ _Usavneië nóla_.”

Aragorn started to cough again. Boromir glanced from Frodo to Aragorn and back.

“Did you insult me?”

“I stated an opinion based off of my first impression of you,” Frodo corrected. “It is not my fault my companion thought it was amusing.”

“Frodo! There you are!” Gimli shouted, stomping over. “Where were you?”

“I never the forest, Gimli,” Frodo assured him. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

Gimli crossed his arms and sighed. He turned to Boromir who was studying them with cautious curiosity and a hint of horror lit his eyes. “What’s up with him?”

“ _Hi muzum_ _âkh-âzyung_ ,” Frodo said casually. Gimli shook his head.

 “Don’t tease him when we’re nowhere near Erebor to fix any mess you cause,” Gimli snapped.

“You’re no fun,” Frodo said. “Where’s Legolas?”

“Still looking for you, I suppose,” Gimli said, shoving an apple into Frodo’s hands. “Best to just stay here. The pointy-eared bastard will show up eventually. Now eat.”

“What? No tea?”

“Don’t test me,” he growled.

Frodo sniggered and sat across from Aragorn, eating his apple. Gimli managed to coax Boromir into a conversation and Aragorn read a book while he smoked his pipe. Frodo tossed the apple core behind him and stretched.

Legolas arrived a few minutes later, his panic abating to restrained ire. Frodo shifted to lie on the ground, head pillowed by his arms crossed behind it. Legolas stood over him.

“Are you well?”

“I’m much better,” Frodo assured him. “And as you see, there is no need to turn me into a pincushion.”

Legolas sighed, sitting beside him. “You find enjoyment trying your friends.”

“It was unintentional. But it was fun in a way hearing you were running about.”

“ _Frodo_ …”

“Fine. Maybe not _fun_ per say. I had more fun messing with the Gondorian anyway. He’s quite handsome, in his own way.”

Legolas tensed beside him. “In his own way,” he agreed after a few long seconds of contemplation. “I guess. I wouldn’t know. He’s too tall for my liking…”

Frodo tilted his head up to the Elf. “What is it?”

“Nothing.”

Frodo turned onto his stomach. “Are you jealous of him because I think he’s handsome?”

“Does it matter?” Legolas asked, finally looking at him. Frodo blinked.

“No. It does not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, Khuzdul and Elfish terms listed below are loose at best…
> 
> ~Khuzdul~
> 
> âkh-âzyung=Khuzdul. lit. men-love, loosely: men’s love, homosexuality
> 
> Hi muzum âkh-âzyung=he is a homophobe, lit: he is rude to homosexuals
> 
> ~Elfish~
> 
> imya yérëmë=Quenya. Same sex love. Imya=identical, same. Yérë=sexual desire. –më=suffix for love
> 
> Dôl gîn lost. Usavneië nóla=your head is empty. I do not believe that is wise.


	10. Chapter 10

Frodo scanned the council room, eyes flitting across each face present, lingering a little longer on those he knew. Apart from his companions, there was Gandalf, Boromir, Celeborn, Galadriel, Elrond, and his sons.

Gandalf’s story proved to be ill news. The Istari was small enough to begin with. It could not bode well to have a wizard who swore to aid them when they needed it betray them. Frodo displayed the Ring for them to see, explaining its power.

“Why not, then, _use_ the Ring against its master?” Boromir asked. Frodo grit his teeth, eyes flashing at him. He schooled his ire and forced it down.

“Only a fool would believe the Ring would betray Sauron,” he said. “Trust me, Lord of Gondor: you do not know what it is you ask. I was betrayed by this Ring once I would council all others against it. Put this desire for it from your mind.”

“What makes you sure you will not fall into its trap again?” Boromir challenged.

“What makes you certain you are _not_ at this moment?” Frodo bit back. Boromir gaped at him, startled by the accusation.

“I know myself.”

“I’m not saying you don’t,” Frodo said. “The Ring’s treachery is deeper than you think and your belief that we can use it against Sauron is _exactly_ what it wants you to think and it can make it seem like your own thoughts when it is not. Either you can trust my word or you can leave. Our only hope is its destruction and I will see it destroyed or die trying before I let it engulf our world in darkness again. You’re suggestion will only ensure and hasten that darkness over the land. Can you live with yourself knowing that?”

Boromir stared at Frodo for a while before lowering his eyes.

Frodo turned to the Elrond. “In my past I failed in protecting these lands and allowed the kingdom of men to deteriorate. It is my mess to fix and I will fix it. Let me walk into the Land of Shadow. Let me cross into Mordor and enter that doomed temple where the Ring was forged. I will not fail a second time.” He swallowed. “You were there that day and you told me what to do. Were you not?”

Elrond nodded. “I was there.”

“I regret not listening to you that day. I should have trusted your word above my own thoughts and instinct. You’ve not proven to be wrong in the past or the present.”

Elrond sighed. “Tell the council, how long you have known of your past life?”

“I do not remember it. I do not remember being Isildur son of Elendil. All I know is from history books and of what I had been told. So I cannot say I have not doubted because I have in my life leading to this day once or twice doubted who I was. How can I be sure of my identity when I do not remember anything?

“But somehow, Sauron knew who I was. He sent his assassins and armies many times to the battlefields at the foot of the Mountain for the sole hope of murdering me before I came of age. And my uncle, Bilbo Baggins, once told me that I had…I’m not sure what the right word is, but I think ‘channeled’ fits it best…I had channeled Isildur when Erebor was invaded by Orcs led by the She-Orc captain named Mog after I had first begun to live there.

“But as to how long…since I was a fauntling of five years. In the years of Men, it is equivalent to an older three year old child of men. In those days since, I have studied under different masters in history, culture, and warfare. I have memorized maps and divined the safest paths through the wilderness and into Mordor.”

He laid a map out onto the table. “My thought was to travel down the Anduin and shift eastward at Emyn Muil and travel into Dagorlad.”

“That route goes straight to the Black Gate!” Boromir interjected. “You would be caught before you dared to enter!”

“I had noticed that,” Frodo said calmly. “Which is why I would have to find a way to climb over the Ash Mountains. From there, it is a matter of getting through Mordor’s plains.”

“Have you an alternate route?” Gandalf asked. Frodo turned to him and shook his head.

“This was the fastest route I could think of.”

“Fastest is not necessarily safest,” Aragorn said. “You will need a guide.”

“And who better than a ranger?” Frodo added. Aragorn bowed his head, returning their smirk. He turned to Galadriel and Celeborn. “If it would please you, my lords, I would bring with me a small company of friends. No task against the Shadow of Sauron should be ventured alone. Legolas Thranduilion, Aragorn son of Arathorn, and Gimli son of Gloin have already pledged to join my quest and were loyal companions thus far.”

Celeborn leaned forward. “And who else will join your quest? Will you bring more experienced warriors with you? You and the companions you have named are brave and loyal, but the battles you have seen and participated in are few. You may know how to fight, you know what to do in a situation, but you are far from ready for this venture—”

Galadriel placed a hand on his shoulder and he looked at her. “You may be right, my love,” she said. “But it is also true that this quest must be fulfilled by Isildur Reborn and despite his age and experience, he is ready. And there is little time left to wait. The Nazgûl have already attacked him once and nearly killed him. To wait any longer may risk the Ring being lost to our enemies.”

Celeborn sighed, squeezing her hand. He looked at Frodo again. “I still think one companion you choose must be a seasoned warrior.”

Boromir stood. “I have long battled against the Orcs of Mordor. Gondor is under constant attack by the Enemy and it is by the blood of Gondorians that the lands beyond can have peace. If you require a soldier to go with him then I will go.”

Celeborn nodded. Galadriel’s lips thinned. “If you insist, Son of Denethor, then go,” she said. “But be wary. Once already the Ring had tried to take your mind at this very council. Find the root of this desire. What is it feeding on that festers in your heart? Glory? Duty? Or a father’s approval? Once you know, confide in these companions. You will need your kings to hold you accountable.”

“Kings?! As in more than one?!”

Gimli cleared his throat. “Aragorn son of Arathorn and Frodo of Erebor are both eligible to the throne of Gondor.”

“What claim is this?” Boromir demanded. “Frodo, I know and recognize as Isildur’s Heir, but a Man must rule Men. Tell me more of the Ranger’s claim!”

“He is Isildur’s Heir,” Legolas said. “And that makes him heir to the throne of Gondor.”

“The choice is yours, Boromir,” Galadriel said. “Will you join Frodo’s quest?”

Boromir stared at Aragorn for a long time as though he could not fathom what he had been told. Then she shifted his gaze to Frodo. “I will go with you into the Fires of Mount Doom and aid you as much as I am able. I give you my sword.”

“I will accompany them as well,” Gandalf said. He smiled at them. “If only to keep these five lads in line. I’ve known all of them since they were young and I cannot believe that their families would condone them heading off into the wilderness against such a powerful foe unaided by someone with more sense and less brawn.”

“I resent that,” Gimli growled. Frodo approached him and patted his shoulder.

“It could be worse. It might’ve been your father.”

Gimli nodded slowly. “Aye. That would be worse.”

#

They would be leaving in two days so to prepare however they may. Frodo reviewed the letter he wrote his uncles, chewing his bottom lip between his teeth. It was short, telling them he was alive.

He didn’t think it was necessary to tell them that he almost died. He didn’t want to scare Bilbo or infuriate Thorin. So he omitted it. It felt horrid, not telling them the whole truth. But it would be easier, for sure, to simply leave out that he almost died before he had finished. It didn’t matter, anyway. He wasn’t dead and he would soon be leaving Lorien.

Beyond that, what did they really need to know?

Frodo folded the letter and sent it to be delivered. He went to eat afterwards, massaging his neck. A white image passed by the corner of his eyes and he turned toward it.

 _Come with me_ , Galadriel’s voice echoed. He obeyed, following her down toward a glen. The grass was green and soft beneath his feet. Ivy hung from the trees. A canopy of branches and leaves blocked the sun and made the water shine like sapphire and obsidian. A pool frothed where a fountain joined its stillness, creating ripples. In the center of the glen was a stone pillar and basin hanging from a hook carved into the basin’s rim was a silver pitcher.

“You wanted to speak with me, my lady?” Frodo asked.

“I did,” she said, picking up the pitcher and filling it with the fountain. “I have something to show you in the mirror.”

“When I look, what will I see?” Frodo asked.

Galadriel approached the basin and filled it. “Even the wisest do not now. You may see things that were, things that are, or things that have not yet come to pass.” She stepped aside and Frodo approached, peering into the still water.

 A land he did not know, but knew all the same with its rolling hills and bright blue sky stared at him. He heard enough stories of the Shire to know his native land if he ever came across it.

The image shifted. Hobbits were chased and slaughtered by an Orc battalion. They were captured, tortured, made into slaves—it shifted again to the lands Frodo had known. People of all kinds fled at the destruction and death Orcs and their dark allies laid on them.

The throne of Gondor lay in ruin.

A flaming eye stared back at him, pulling him in and calling to the Ring. Frodo sighed and stepped away, looking at Galadriel.

“What meaning is there in showing me this? I can tell it is what will happen if I fail. You do not need to drive this home into me, my Lady. I have long known of the future that would await Middle Earth should I fail. That is why failure has never been on option for me.”

“You are brave, Frodo Baggins,” she said. “But bravery and valor and wisdom is not enough to get you through this trial. I have seen many brave, wise, and valiant Men, Elves, and Dwarves fail their quests before. They faced their enemies alone. You are wise in knowing you must not face them alone, but your companions are not as strong as you would hope they’d be.”

“You fear Boromir will try to take the Ring.”

“There is a lack of love in his life and in his brother’s,” she said. “And he will not recognize you or Aragorn as his kings.”

“I have no ambition to take that Throne.”

“Do not deny who you are.”

“I never have.”

“You have just done so at this very moment,” she said. Frodo clenched his jaw. “Frodo, you _are_ a king of Gondor and given time, Boromir will recognize you as such. At this time, his actions can and will turn the tide if you are not wary of him. He needs to shift his alliance to you, and if you cannot make that happen, this quest will be doomed to fail regardless of your will. Your people—Erebor, Gondor, and the Shire—will suffer if you cannot sway Boromir to pledge his loyalty, fully, to you.”

“I cannot force him to swear his allegiance to me.”

“You don’t have to. He is a reasonable Man and if you get to the root of what plagues his nights, you can help him build a block against the Ring.” She knelt down. “I have faith in you, Frodo.” She touched his cheek. “I wish you success. May the grace of the Valar be with you.”

Frodo lowered his eyes. “Thank you, my lady. But words and well wishes will do nothing for me.”


	11. Chapter 11

He blocked Gimli’s swing and pushed him back. Gimli swung his axes in an arc and Frodo ducked, aiming Sting for his stomach. Gimli jumped back. Frodo jumped at him. Gimli ducked and tripped him, aiming his ax at Frodo’s throat. Frodo groaned.

“Do you yield?”

“Yes,” he said.

The ax left his neck and Gimli helped him up. “You’re getting hasty.”

“I’m tired of waiting,” Frodo sighed. “My legs ache with a need to run.”

“So I noticed,” Gimli said, leaning on his ax. “You should rest as much as you are able to, Frodo. You won't get much chance to after we leave.”

“I do not think it is possible for me to truly rest these days. Ever it is calling and ever it is driving me to madness. It whispers to me ‘put me on, put me on.’” Frodo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’ll never get easier and the longer we wait…”

Gimli patted his shoulder. “You’ll do fine, Lad.” Frodo stuffed his hands in his pockets. “And you’ll have a tale or two to tell your uncles. You’ll do them proud.”

Frodo stared at his feet. The braids woven in, decorated in silver clasps. The anklet chains symbolizing his status and accomplishments much like the clasps. Three of his toes bore gold rings. He sat down, running a finger over the designs and jewels he wore.

“Maybe so,” he said at last. Frodo looked up at Gimli. “I would think of nothing past what will happen in Mordor, my friend.”

“You lack hope, I know. That is why it is my job to provide it. Otherwise you’ll fall to despair far sooner than you should.”

Frodo smiled. “Then I should be thankful I have you here at least, _Bâhel_ ,” he said, getting up.

“That you should, Laddie,” Gimli said, patting his shoulder. “Let’s get something to eat, then I’ll beat that restlessness out of you before the end.”

“Not if I beat you first.”

“Cheeky brat.”

Frodo grinned at him. “I live to cause grief. Seems it’s my lot in life,” he said with a shrug. Gimli laughed.

“Then let’s cause a little grief for a few pointy-eared, leaf-eating, tree-shaggers. To remember us by, eh?”

#

Cloaks were clasped around their shoulders, held together by silver leaf brooches. Their food stock was resupplied with lembas bread. A length of rope was set in the first boat on Frodo’s right. He fixed his cloak to keep it from choking him too much and the company gathered to Galadriel. Once he had joined them, Galadriel called for her maids to hand out tokens.

Frodo didn’t see much use for them. He was taught that luck, if anything, was simply a form of favor from the Valar. To him, there was no such thing as coincidence and tokens are all but useless unless, like the beads and braids in his hair, they held value.

She turned to Aragorn first. “To you, Aragorn Heir or Isildur, I give you the Elessar.” She pressed a silver brooch in his hand with a green topaz-like stone at its center. The silver was carved to resemble the wings of a bird. She leaned in and whispered something in his ear. Aragorn bowed his head.

“Thank you, my lady,” he said. She turned to Legolas.

“For the prince of the woodland realm,” she began, beckoning a maid, “I give you a bow and quiver carved of my people. May it serve you well in dark times.”

Legolas lowered his head, murmuring his thanks. She whispered to him as well. Whatever she said made him freeze. She cupped his cheek and kissed his forehead and Aragorn steadied him with a hand on his shoulder. Frodo wanted to know what she said.

What if it got in the way of the quest?

Frodo had no use for anyone who would be a liability.

She paused at Gimli. “I’m afraid I have no gift for you. I do not know what to bestow on a Dwarf.”

“My lady, I do not need any fancy token you might give,” Gimli said. Frodo peered at him. “However, to remember you by, I humbly request a strand of your hair. That is enough.”

Frodo cleared his throat. Gimli turned to him. _What about Ara?_ He signed.

 _I’ll explain later,_ Gimli signed back, cheeks tingeing. Frodo resisted the urge to leer at him, fiddling with his cloak instead.

Galadriel raised her fingers to her head and combed through her hair, pulling loose hairs out, she counted them and handed them to Gimli before kneeling down and whispering to him as well. Frodo wasn’t sure how to translate the expression on Gimli’s face. It was a mix between joy and confusion.

She moved to Boromir and one of her maids stepped forward. “To Boromir, son of Denethor, I give you this belt. May it remind you of where your heart truly lies and may your strength endure.” She handed him a belt of gold before whispering in his ear. He looked at her with shock, then what seemed to be a hint of shame, staring at the belt in his hands.

Galadriel walked to Frodo. “You know what you must do.”

“I do. Nothing will make me waver, though I may stumble,” he said. Galadriel nodded and two maids approached.

“I give you a belt, as well, of silver. And this,” she pulled out a phial from her purse. “It is the light of Earendil. Our most beloved star. May it be a light for you when all others go out.” Frodo took the belt and the phial.

“Thank you, my lady.”

Galadriel knelt and her lips nearly touched his ear. “Holding onto the past never did anything but ill for anyone,” she said. “Forgive, and move on.” Frodo could not respond.

“What did you see?”

Galadriel smiled. “There are some things you need to know,” she said. “And others, you must come to know when the time has come.”

 _Trust an Elf to never give a straight answer_ , he thought as she moved to Gandalf. “To you, Mithrandir, I have no gift either. What would you request?”

He chuckled. “I already have your friendship, Lady Galadriel. I do not need much else.”

“Are you certain?” she asked.

He nodded, so she leaned in and whispered in his ear. Whatever it was she told him, he responded with another nod. She stepped back, surveying the group.

“Go now while there is still light on your path. Be swift and may the Valar look favorably on you all.”

#

Three days passed tranquilly. Before the third day ended, they approached the shores of Sarn Gebir. Frodo kept glancing at the pillars still a visible among the trees.

“It’s fine craftsmanship, eh?” Gimli said. Frodo shrugged.

“Perhaps,” he said. “But I cannot tell.”

“You feel nothing when you see them?” Aragorn asked. Frodo shook his head. “I feel awe. I had thought you’d at least feel nostalgic.”

“Well I don’t,” Frodo snapped. The camp paused. He sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“Sit down,” Gimli said. “And eat something.” Frodo obeyed, head bowed.

“Are you all right?” Legolas asked.

“I am,” he said, looking up. “It’s just that many people expect me to remember my past life. But I don’t. I truly don’t. I suppose it’s like that for the sake of keeping detached. But I don’t know. Sometimes I wonder if it’d be harder or easier if I did remember being Isildur.”

Gandalf lit his pipe. “I do not think it would be easier for you.” he bit down on the lip, inhaling and exhaling. “If you remembered, you might grow attached to the Ring again and jeopardize the mission.”

“Or I might be more determined to destroy it.” Frodo shrugged. “I don’t know.” Gimli handed him a loaf of lembas bread.

“That’s a bit much, Legolas said.

“Hobbits eat more than Men. Back at the Mountain, I was usually eating about six or seven meals. Most of those were either alone or with Bilbo.”

“I know, but a _whole_ one? Are you sure?”

“I’ll fee full soon enough,” he assured Legolas, taking a bite. Boromir stared at him.

“Where do you fit it all?” he asked. Frodo chewed contemplatively. “It’s just that you look so small!”

“Erm…well, Hobbits can be quite energetic when we have to be,” he said. “We get hungry far easier and sooner than others and it burns off again. For me, I eat quite a lot because much of my time was spent training and fighting and that’s _not_ when I’m in my studies. Plus, we eat a lot more vegetables than Men and Dwarves. We’re not _lean_. In fact a lean Hobbit is usually considered ugly or poor in the Shire, or so I’ve been told. I’m not as soft as my uncle is and he’s certainly packed on some weight since we settled in Erebor. Most of my girth comes from muscle, in comparison.”

“Having been raised in Erebor, Frodo’s more a Dwarf than a Hobbit,” Gimli added with a hint of pride and a small bit of teasing.

“But biologically I _am_ a Hobbit. Culturally, I’m a Dwarf. But I’ve no stone sense and I feel better being outside and gardening.”

“That explains why you used to complain about having your lessons inside so much,” Gimli muttered.

“Oh, I still _hate_ that,” Frodo assured him. “I just learned to keep my mouth shut about it.”

“You must have liked Lorien, then,” Legolas said. Frodo shook his head.

“I didn’t. It was suffocating with all the trees. This, on the other hand,” he waved at the open area of their camp, “Is much better by comparison. Even if the river is a bit unnerving.”

“Why?”

“Hobbits aren’t strong swimmers. I know _how_ , but I’m useless in the water. And that’s when I’m _not_ gripped by fear of it.”

“You _still_ get like that?!” Gimli snapped.

“Yes. I can’t help it. My parents’ drowned, so it’s expected I’d be nervous around open water.”

Gimli rolled his eyes and Legolas glowered at him. “You shouldn’t mock other people’s fears,” he snapped.

“Frodo doesn’t care.”

Frodo nodded. “I’m used to it by now.”

“Are you all right in the boats?” Legolas asked.

“I’m fine. I’ll admit I get a little antsy, but it’s not that bad.”

Boromir stood. “I’m going to get more wood for the fire. Save me something to eat.” He disappeared in the trees. Frodo shifted to sit on the ground, back supported by the fallen log.

“We’re being followed,” Legolas said. Frodo closed his eyes.

“Whoever it is, unless they attack, I suggest leaving them be for now,” he said.

“I do not think that is wise.”

“We are all trained warriors, Legolas. Whoever is following us will not be able to overpower us. Not even individually. Leave them be. All right?”

Legolas sighed. “I’ll take first watch.” Frodo heard him climb into the trees. Beyond the sound of the wind and the feel of it, the crackling fire, and the river splashing the shores, it was a peaceful night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~Khuzul~
> 
> Bâhel=friend of all friends, best friend, etc.
> 
> ~Galadriel’s parting words to the fellowship (excluding Frodo)~
> 
> Aragorn: You have my blessing, even when you do not have my son’s (she means Elrond, and the term “son” is supposed to be short for “son-in-law”).
> 
> Legolas: Do not despair. He will not be angry with you forever.
> 
> Gimli: Your loyalty will be aptly rewarded, do not let him fall.
> 
> Boromir: Do not listen to it. Pledge your loyalty to your kings and trust their judgment lest all will fail.
> 
> Gandalf: They are young and they are strong, but they are reckless. I fear for them. Will you keep an eye on them as much as you are able?


	12. Chapter 12

Frodo was shaken awake. He reached for Sting.

“Peace, Frodo,” Boromir said. Frodo did not let go of his sword, but his grip did lessen around the hilt. “May I have a word with you in private?”

“Aye,” Frodo said, standing. He followed Boromir into the tree line. “What is it?”

“I need to know: are you absolutely sure the Ring must be destroyed? It weighs down on you, I see it day by day. Are you sure you do not suffer needlessly?”

Frodo grit his teeth. “Boromir, sit down.”

“Why?”

“Just do it. We need to talk and I would rather _not_ look up at you when we do.” Boromir obeyed, sitting cross legged on the ground. “Now listen to what I say: the Ring _will not_ help Gondor. I have told you it sooner raze the kingdom to the ground than aid it. The Ring will not help you or your people. Boromir it will sooner destroy you then betray Sauron. Why is this so hard for you to comprehend?”

Boromir blinked.

“What is it that makes you pursue what will only seek to destroy you?”

He sighed. “My father asked me to retrieve it if I can. If I am not loyal to him, then where do my loyalties lie? Who else can I put my trust in?”

“Your father is wrong,” Frodo said. “Boromir, if your father’s approval is more important than saving our world from the Darkness Sauron will bestow on it, then I have no use for you. You will be nothing more than a liability to me and you would sooner jeopardize the quest if you continue this madness. You can go home. _Or_ you can stay, but know this: I will kill you if you try to take the Ring from me. I do not say that because of some obsession it has cast over me, but out of necessity. I cannot give you the Ring. Not when I am not convinced you can be trusted with it.”

Boromir is silent. “Then what do I do? I have to look to my people and I ask only for the strength to do so. Are you truly so cold that you will not help my people?”

“I _am_ helping them. When the Ring is destroyed, Sauron will be no more, his lands will be laid to waste, his perversions will be gone and our lands will be safe again. Gondor isn’t the only land in danger and you need to stop thinking that it is! I am looking not just to Gondor’s protection: but to Mirkwood, Esgaroth, Erebor, Rohan, the Shire—what we are doing now, Boromir is so much bigger than Gondor! If it helps, then pledge your loyalty to me. Swear to me that you will listen to my word above all others, save Aragorn’s. Swear it and I will let you stay, and I will trust you.”

He could see Boromir’s outline in the darkness shift. Boromir sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Loyalty to a Halfling—”

“ _A Hobbit_ ,” Frodo snarled. “And to your king. Like it or not, Aragorn is the king of Gondor and so am I. Neither he nor I are that keen on it, but it is the truth. The Ring is evil, Boromir. It has to be destroyed. You need to understand and accept that there is no other way. None.”

Boromir sighed again. “Can I think on it?”

“Yes.” Boromir’s face became visible and Frodo furrowed his brow, he turned to his sword, pulling Sting out of its sheath. “Boromir, get your weapons,” he ordered. They ran back to camp “Wake up!” He shouted. “Gimli! Aragorn! Wake up!”

“What’s going on?” Gimli groaned.

“Orcs! Get up you fools!”

“Where’s Gandalf?!” Boromir asked.

Frodo cursed the wizard under his breath brandishing Sting.

“We move into the forest,” Aragorn said. “Try to keep them away from the camp.” He and Boromir ran into the forest.

“Other than that, have fun?” Frodo asked, a grin spread on his face as he looked at Gimli.

“May the best Dwarf win,” Gimli added.

“Oh, you are going down, _rukhsul menu._ ” Gimli laughed at the insult and they followed the Men. Rustling from above alerted Frodo to Legolas’ presence in the trees.

 _Find…ling_ echoed in the air.

Orcs burst through the trees, rushing at them. Frodo dodged between legs, slitting tendons as he fought, felling his opponents so best to get at their necks and hearts. A flash of bright light, alerted them that Gandalf was still nearby, fighting enemies of his own.

An Orc towered over Frodo, bringing its black, perverse iron blade down on him, Frodo parried, heels digging into the earth. With a shout, he pushed the Orc back and slammed Sting into its thigh. The Orc roared and kicked him.

Frodo slammed into the tree, gasping for air as his body locked. He coughed and gasped for air, struggling to get back to his feet. His ears rang and his vision swam. He felt he was going to throw up. The Orc shrieked. Frodo looked up to see an arrow sticking in its eye. Another one landed in its neck.

He glanced up at the trees, spying Legolas leap from the branch to another tree.

_Find the hling…_

“Frodo!”  A strong arm hefted him up. Frodo gasped, and shoved his helper away, vomiting on the ground. “What happened?” Gimli demanded.

“I was tossed. I’m fine. I’ll be fine—”

“Find the Halfling!”

Gimli wrapped his arm around Frodo’s middle. “Let me go!” Frodo demanded, wriggling against Gimli’s grasp. “Gimli, let me go! I can fight!”

“Don’t be a fool,” he shouted. “Legolas, to Rauros! To the falls!” Gimli ran toward the lights and the forest brightened, ablaze in fire. Boromir and Aragorn fought in tandem, hewing Orcs down by the dozen. An arrow nearly embedded Boromir, but was knocked out of the air by Legolas’ own arrow.

Gimli set Frodo down. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I am,” Frodo said, despite how queasy he still felt.

“Make for the trees,” Gandalf ordered. “Hurry, climb!”

“These aren’t the usual rabble of Orcs,” Legolas said. “What makes you think they won’t find us?” Gandalf ignored him casting a spell of sorts.

“Make for the trees,” he repeated. A spell is cast on them. You will be concealed for a time. I will follow. Go!”

“You’re not coming?” Boromir asked.

“I will join you shortly. Now _go_! I will not ask again!”

“Gandalf—”

 _“Go! Fly you fools!!”_  

An arrow slammed into Gandalf’s shoulder and he stumbled. Frodo ran toward him, but Boromir lifted him in his arms.

“ _Gandalf!!_ ”

Gandalf clutched at his shoulder, stumbling back. Another arrow flew at him and he blocked it, losing his footing. He fell, disappearing into the falls.

Frodo felt like ice. His eyes stung. He fought against Boromir as they raced into the forest. “Let me go! Let go! We can’t leave him! Let go!” Legolas pulled him out of Boromir’s arms and climbed. “No, let go!”

“Frodo, stop,” Legolas whispered, holding him close. “That’s enough. Stop. There’s nothing we can do. He’s gone.”

“No! There’s a chance he’s alive! We can get him!”

“Frodo, we lost him.”

“No!”

 _Smack!!_ Frodo silenced, blinking. He raised his hand to his burning cheek and looked at Legolas. “I’m sorry, Frodo,” he said. “It’s too late. He’s gone.” Frodo tried to blink back his tears. He bit his lip and hid his face in Legolas’ shoulder as his tears overwhelmed him.

_How am I going to tell Bilbo?_

#

They could not risk going down the falls to search. Frodo kept to a fruitless hope that Gandalf may have survived the fall even if the others believed Gandalf was dead. Instead they used the time to come up with a new plan.

“They are looking for Frodo,” Gimli said. “That much is certain.”

Frodo crossed his arms, staring at the fire. “They are after the Ring. But…did anyone else notice something _odd_ about these Orcs?”

“How do you mean?” Boromir asked.

“The skin is different and they build. Many orcs have attacked Erebor, Mirkwood, and Esgaroth since I came to live there. These Orcs seem slightly different. Their skin is wrong. Same as the way they move. They’re almost…they’re almost like Men.” He closed his eyes. “They’re like _Mog_.”

“Who?” Aragorn asked.

“Mog was the Orc-Captain who targeted Frodo when it became clear to Mordor that Isildur had been reborn,” Legolas said darkly. “She and her army attacked the Shire, forcing Frodo and Bilbo to flee to Erebor for their own protection. She was half-Orc, half-Man: an Uruk-Hai…but even so, it is unlikely Orcs are breeding with Men, especially at such a rate where we would face this many Uruks.”

Aragorn dug his dagger into the earth. “What do we do?”

Frodo chewed his lip. “They’re looking for me,” he said. “Aragorn, how much do you fear the Ring?”

Aragorn furrowed his brow, staring at him. “Too much,” he said.

“Good. I’m trusting you with it.”

“This is a bad idea,” Aragorn said.

“Who else is there?” Frodo asked. “There is no one else I can trust with it save for myself and if they want me, they are probably after the Ring and we need to avoid them getting it.” He turned to Gimli. “Can we make a decoy?”

“Maybe. It can’t be forged, though.”

“Will one of these do?” Boromir asked, pointing at the gold loop holes in his tunic. Frodo leaned forward. He nodded.

“Those would be perfect.”

“I’m against this,” Legolas said. “We vowed to protect you.”

“And I must protect the Ring before I can destroy it,” Frodo countered. “Letting it get into the hands of Orcs, especially if they are Uruk-Hai, is the opposite of that. I can and will live through it. We need to know how they came about and who is controlling them.”

The fire cracked and embers flew upward.

Gimli squeezed his shoulder. “We’ll be right behind you, my lord.”

“Frodo,” Legolas said. Frodo turned to him. “Be careful.”

He smiled and stood. “I will be. I’m going to get some rest. I feel I’ll need it. We’ll reconvene in the morning and find the Orcs.”

“Sleep as well as you can,” Gimli said. Frodo thanked him and climbed into his bedroll, trembling.

 _I can do this,_ he told himself. _I can do this._

He just wished he could believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~Khuzdul~
> 
> Rukhsul menu=son of an Orc
> 
> About how Gandalf falls: Yes, I know an arrow in the shoulder isn't really enough to out Gandalf. However, the Uruk-Hai aren't exactly dragging around any balrogs for them to run away from...and I have reasons for keeping Boromir alive. 
> 
> Do I really need to say Gandalf's not dead? X|


	13. Chapter 13

The Uruks were searching for them. Frodo clutched at the decoy and observed Aragorn. His hands were shaking and he looked slightly pale, but otherwise he gave Frodo a smile. Frodo bit his lip and nodded. _Yavanna and Mahal, please help us_ , he prayed, unsheathing Sting and charging out of the enchantment.

“Looking for me?” he shouted, catching the Orcs attention. “Come and get me you mother-fucking piles of shit!”

He shouted running into the trees furthest from the Rauros. Three Orcs nearly caught him, but he dodged their hands. One had its leg cut, the second stabbed, and the third’s chest was slit. Frodo jumped over them, racing further north. A fourth Orc slammed into him, driving his head into the dirt and stepping on his wrist with Sting still in his hand.

Sting was kicked out of Frodo’s hand and he was bound. Frodo kicked, wriggling to get free. His captor raised his hand and slammed it into his cheek.

#

Frodo woke up to jostling. His hands were bound, looped around a thick, muscled Orc neck. He blinked, vision swimming. He looked around, searching for…

For…

He wasn’t sure what he was looking for. How long he’d been out, he doesn’t know. He could tell, from the darkening sky, that it was dusk. But that was it.

They stopped. “What is it?” One demanded. “What do you smell?”

“Man-flesh.”

Frodo grit his teeth as the pace picked up. He grabbed his Elven brooch between his teeth and spat it onto the ground, watching it be trampled into the earth. He hoped that’d be enough to let his companions know they were on the right track.

#

It is two more days before his captors collapsed and demanded rest from their leader, who complied. Frodo fell to the ground, groaning. He struggled against his binds, trying to loosen them, cursing under his breath. A hand seized his collar and hefted him up.

“What about his legs?” An Orc asked, eyeing Frodo like a juicy slab of meat. Frodo tensed and felt bile rise in his throat. “He doesn’t need those…”

 _Are they going to eat me?_ Frodo thought. The Orc squeezing his neck pulled him back further.

“Stay back, Scum!”

“Just a mouthful! Won’t take a moment!”

Frodo reached for his scabbard. Sting was gone and he cursed again.

A sword slit through the air and flesh.

“Looks like meat’s back on the menu, boys!”

Frodo was shoved aside as the Orcs descended on the body of their fallen comrade. He clambored back to his feet and sprinted toward the forest.

“He’s getting away!”

“Get the maggot!”

Frodo dodged an outreached hand, jumping over it and slamming his foot into an Orc’s nose, seizing a dagger to defend himself with.

A steady pounding on the ground caught his attention and horses road through, their riders slaying the Orcs. With the dagger still in his hand, Frodo raced for the forest line.

The trees creaked and groaned, and the air choked him. He was vaguely reminded of the closeness of Mirkwood and he stopped, hiding behind a tree and cut his bonds on the knife. Frodo leaned back.

_Now what? Stay? Look for the others? Keep heading west?_

“Where are you, you runt!”

Frodo peeked out. An Orc survivor? He grit his teeth and began scaling the tree, digging the knife into the bark for leverage.

“Where are you?! I’m going to rip out your filthy little innards!”

A hand seized Frodo around the waist. He screamed, catching the Orc’s attention, but it was followed by a sickening crunch of the Orc being crushed. Frodo squirmed in the giant’s hand, demanding to be released.

“Little Orc, _ho-hummm_.”

Frodo stilled, looking at the giant. It was a tree that moved. “You’re an Ent? Correct?”

“I am, Little Orc.”

“I’m—I’m actually more like a Dwarf, Master _Zurmûn_ ,” Frodo said.

“You stabbed me with an Orc blade.”

“A _stolen_ Orc blade, Good Master,” Frodo said. “A band of Orcs captured me. Where they were taking me, I do not know. I escaped and took their foul weapon for defense. My own sword is missing. Hopefully it is with my friends. As for stabbing you, I humbly apologize, Good Master. I did not know it was an Ent I was trying to climb to escape my enemy, who, I might add, you have stomped. I extend my thanks.”

“You say you are a Dwarf. But you carry an Orc blade. Most mysterious. But you are no Dwarf I know. Could be Orc-mischief.” He started to squeeze and Frodo gasped for air from the pressure applied to his ribs and abdomen.

“I’m a Hobbit!” Frodo shouted, gasping. “Have you heard of Thorin Oakenshield? His consort is my uncle! I’m a Hobbit! Shire-folk? _Halfling_?!”

“Maybe you are and maybe you aren’t. The white wizard will know.”

Frodo stared at him. He shook his head. “No! No, not Saruman! You can’t trust him!” the Ent dropped him at the feet of a white robed elder. Frodo scrambled to his feet, fists raised—

“Hello, Frodo.”

Frodo lowered his hands, letting them fall. “You’re alive.”

Gandalf chuckled, sitting on a rock. “I will explain all when the others get here. They should be here sooner than you think.” He turned to the Ent. “Treebeard, you need not be cautious around him, this is Frodo Baggins of Erebor, nephew to the King’s Consort, Bilbo Baggins, who is a dear friend of mine. He is no Orc, even if that _is_ a Morgul blade he carries.” Gandalf arched a brow. “Where did you get it? What happened to Sting?”

Frodo told him all that had happened since he fell as much as he knew. Gandalf listened, mouth set in a grim line.

“Frodo, where is the Ring?”

He swallowed and bowed his head. “I left it in Aragorn’s care—I know it was foolish! But who else was there to give it to for safekeeping? I can only trust he doesn’t let it take advantage of him.” Gandalf sighed.

“That is true,” he said. “There are worse choices among the company you could have trusted the Ring to. Still, I wish you didn’t let it out of your sight.”

“The Orcs would have found it if I kept it. It was too great a risk. I could not take it.”

Gandalf hummed. “No. You could not. I do not like it, but you did well. It is night and dawn is nigh. Master Treebeard!”

The Ent looked down on them. “Would you be so kind as to take Frodo to your home for a short time? I will seek out the others and bring them here. As for you, Master Baggins, take the opportunity to rest some more.”

Frodo sighed. “Have I not rested plenty?”

“You’ll wish for _more_ before you’re journey’s end. Besides, you just escaped a band of Uruk-Hai. Rest and peace are essential, especially to adventurous young Hobbits.”

#

 _Rest,_ Frodo decided as he waited for Gandalf’s return, _is annoying._ He was antsy, constantly pacing or something more strenuous to tire him out while he waited for the others to arrive.

Frodo growled. _Apart from Gimli, there is no reason on Arda for them to be this slow!!_ He groaned and lay on the grass staring at the clear sky that lit the open field of Treebeard’s home. It was the only place he knew in the forest that was open and here, he could breathe freely and without hindrance due to close air. _I wonder how things are at home…_

Bilbo knew he was going to leave, but he doubted that made his leaving any easier for him. Or for anyone else. Frodo hoped Thorin hadn’t been too hard on Kili. The king was a good uncle, but a hard one as well. He did not take well to trickery of any kind. Bíli would be upset, Dwarka and Fili cross when he returned. And Kili…well, one could never really tell with his younger of the two cousins.

He sighed, closing his eyes. _I want this over with. Soon. I want to be able to go home and rest in my own bed, feel safe again…I don’t know what this quest will take from me, but I…accepting you might die and accepting death are two different things. But really, what is there here for me?_

His thoughts turned to Legolas. Frodo laughed dryly. The Elf who cast him aside? He couldn’t blame Legolas, truly, when he thought about it. He was a child when they met after all. Having a child moon over you might be a bit wearisome.

“Frodo,” Treebeard said. Frodo sat up, opening his eyes. “Your friends have arrived.”

“Took them long enough,” he whispered, getting to his feet. “Are you taking me to them?”

“Gandalf asked me to,” Treebeard said, lifting Frodo up to his shoulder. “There is much to discuss and stories to be told…”

Frodo let him talk and he listened. It was a good distraction. Treebeard led him toward the forest edge where Gandalf had encountered the others. They were shaken and in awe, listening to something Gandalf told them. Treebeard set Frodo down and just as his feet touched the ground, Gimli engulfed him in a bone crushing hug.

“Gimli! Get off!” Frodo shouted, kicking his legs.

“Not on your life, you brat! By Mahal’s hammer, what were you thinking?!”

“I’m alive aren’t I?” he snapped, trying to pry Gimli off.

“Just accept it, Frodo,” Boromir said, “I don’t think he’s letting go.”

“You could help!” Frodo shot at him. Boromir ignored him reaching behind him to pull out Sting. Frodo relaxed, staring at the sword. “Thank you.” He turned to Aragorn. “Do you have it?”

Aragorn reached around his neck, taking the necklace off. He hesitated a moment, but handed it back to Frodo. Gimli released him.

“Are you well?”

“A well as can be,” Frodo said. “How long exactly has it been since we saw each other last. My count is about five days.”

“Off by one,” Gimli said. “Why are you off a day?”

“They knocked me out when they caught me,” Frodo said nonchalantly. “But that was nearly a week ago now. I swear I’m fine, Gimli. Don’t worry about me, _Bâhel_.” He turned to Gandalf. “You promised us an explanation when we gathered.”

“So I did,” Gandalf said, frowning at him. “And you’ve spent _far_ too much time around Dwarves, as brusque as you are! You’re uncle would have a fit.”

“Depending on the uncle you’re talking about, he might puff up with pride.”

“And that uncle needs someone to poke holes in his ego,” Gimli muttered. Frodo elbowed him. “What? You’re not going to turn me in. You’re not Dwarf enough.”

“No, far to Hobbity for that, I suppose,” Frodo said, sitting down. “Gandalf?”

The wizard bit the lip of his pipe, thinking. “I suppose it is best to begin at the Rauros…”


	14. Chapter 14

_The arrows were morgul make, and far closer to my heart than they ought to have been. I was careless and I paid for that. When I fell down the Falls of Rauros, the shafts broke on the rocks and I spent the night in agony from the poison, clawing for breath. Darkness took me. My pain had vanished. And it seemed as though eternity stretched on…_

_But it seems that my work in this world is not done. I have been sent back until the time my task is done. As for this form, I have become Saruman as he was meant to be—that is where the Orcs were headed: they were created by him at the behest of the Dark Lord Sauron. I am no longer Gandalf the Grey. For simplicity, let it be said that Gandalf is still my name. But I am Gandalf the White._

“The Orcs that ran us down have been allowed to pass from Isengard to where we were,” Gandalf said. “But to do so, they must also cross through Rohan and in all my years, I’ve never known the Horse Masters to be so lenient. Orcs have razed Rohan and I am worried why this is. I can only conclude that something has reached out against it, taken hold of its king.”

Frodo clenched his teeth, thinking. His hand curled around the ring beneath his tunic. “I do not like the idea of straying off the path…” he sighed. “But neither can I let the Men of Rohan burn. Riders passed through here the night I came into Fangorn.”

“That was the Rohirrim,” Legolas said. “They did not see you…”

“I had already made my escape by then.”

“We had worried they accidently killed you in their haste to rid their land of the Orcs,” Boromir said. “We are relieved to discover this to be false.”

“As am I,” Frodo said. He sighed, lowering his hand to grip Sting’s hilt instead. “We go to Rohan and to the aid of her King. But after that, we head for Mordor.” He turned to Gandalf, “There won’t be any further delays?”

“Foreseeable ones, at least,” Gandalf promised. “But unexpected delays I cannot account for.”

Frodo nodded. He bowed to Gandalf. “This is your desire that we go to Rohan, Wizard. Lead the way.”

#

Rohan was a land barren of trees and greenery, the color of wheat gold and dried grass. The sun bore down on them. Frodo felt warmer than he’d like, tugging at his cloak and tunic to try and cool down a little bit. Apart from hot sun and dried grass and the many rocks, the wind was a soft breeze. Frodo wouldn’t have minded a heavier gust if it could cool him down. Large gates blocked the city of Edoras from them. It wasn’t the stronghold of Erebor and Frodo figured about three ways to invade the city without much effort. He shook the thought away.

 _What reason would I have to invade or sack this city?_ He thought. _None._

Gandalf spoke with the gatekeepers in their native tongue for a few minutes before the doors were opened for them. The city was quiet, the people huddled to their homes, watching them warily. “You’ll find more cheer in a graveyard,” Gimli muttered.

Frodo agreed. “They’re oppressed,” he said. “Perhaps. I’m not sure, but it would take a vast amount of fear to make these people act in this way.”

They dismounted their steeds, paying the stable hand to lodge and care for them. Frodo looked around, finding several eyes staring at him with a mixture of fear and curiosity. He ignored the stares. He was used to them. Many stared at him either with curiosity or awe, depending on who was doing to staring.

Neither kind of stare was bad, and he never let it bother him. But the fear? That did bother him. Fear and ignorance drives people to do horrible things and that worried him. He stood beside Gandalf as they ascended the stone steps to the doors of the Hall. On reaching the top step, they were greeted by three guards. Gandalf smiled at them.

“Ah, Hama…”

“I’m afraid I cannot allow you in the King’s presence so heavily armed, Gandalf Greyhame,” he said, a hint of sorry in his voice, though he stood tall and proud. “By order of Grima Wormtongue.”

Frodo squinted at him. _They put their faith in someone who goes by “Wormtongue?” What happened to these people?_ Still, he handed Sting to the guard and the other weapons belonging to his peers followed. Even when the very last weapon was discarded, they were still not allowed inside.

“You’re staff,” Hama said. Gandalf’s eyebrows rose.

“Oh?” he looked at the staff, then back at Hama. “You wouldn’t part an old man from his walking stick,” he said with a measure of implore. Hama nodded and let them in. The halls were dark. Men and women stood on the sides hidden in the darkness of the pillars. They looked like many of the people outside, to Frodo. The guards as well.

At far end of the Hall stood a throne. Sitting in it was an old man, slumped over as though _sitting_ took more energy than it should. Sitting beside him was a pale Man, robed in black. His black hair and eyes stared at them and he whispered something in the King’s ear.

“The courtesy of your Hall has somewhat lessened of late, Théoden King,” Gandalf said. The Man backed away and the King raised his eyes to Gandalf. Frodo furrowed his brow. Théoden’s eyes were vacant.

“Why should I welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow?” the king asked. The man in black patted the king’s hand and whispered something else to him before standing. Insulting Gandalf and belittling the fellowship. Frodo wished he had not given up Sting.

“Keep your tongue behind your teeth, Grima!” Gandalf snapped. Wormtongue backed away from him. “I did not come here to dabble in twisted words from a forked tongue.” He brandished the staff and Wormtongue snarled.

“I told you to get his staff!”

Men broke through the crowds, attacking them. Frodo dodged a punch, seizing the Man’s arm and locking his foot behind a booted ankle. He threw his assailant over his head and to the ground, backing away from the angry hands trying to grab them, and kicking him under the jaw. The Man’s head snapped back and he groaned. Gimli jumped onto his back and slammed the head into the ground. The man stilled.

“Are you all right, Frodo?”

“I’m fine,” he said.

Gimli nodded and jumped off the unconscious Man to pin Wormtongue down.  “I would stay still if I were you,” he growled. Frodo turned to Gandalf, who stood before the King, staff aimed at Théoden.

“Uncle!” A woman shouted. Frodo turned to her, seeing Aragorn grab her arm and mumbled something to her. Théoden roared, lunging at Gandalf. Frodo was blinded by a flash of white light. He blinked until his vision returned. Théoden groaned, slumping forward. Gandalf backed away and the woman broke out of Aragorn’s arms, racing to the king. She caught him before he fell.

The years melted off Théoden. He still seemed old, but not by much. He blinked as clarity returned. He cupped the woman’s cheek, whispering to her before looking around. “Gandalf?”

Gandalf bowed his head. “Breathe the free air again, my friend.”

Théoden stood, leaning on his throne. “Dark have been my dreams of late,” he said, voice rough from disuse. His hands shook and he stared at them with curiosity in his eyes.

 “Your fingers would remember their old strength better if they grasped your sword,” Gandalf suggested. Théoden ordered for it to be brought and he walked down the steps of his throne to the ground floor.

“What has happened, Gandalf? Why have you come? And your friends—quite a motley crew you bring.”

“Ah, yes, they are, I suppose.” He introduced them one by one, ending with Frodo. Théoden stared at him as though he was unsure what to make of Frodo.

“You are prince of Erebor?”

“I am, Sire.”

“Erebor is a Dwarven kingdom. You are not a Dwarf, though you dress as one.”

“I am a Hobbit, Théoden King,” Frodo said. “My blood people hail far to the West, but I have spent nearly all my life in Erebor under the tutelage of Balin, Lord of Moria, before he set out to reclaim the mountain. My guardian and uncle is the King’s Consort.”

“Your _uncle_?”

“I am aware that Men find same-sex relationships poorly, but Dwarves are of a different mind. As are some Elves,” Frodo said, hands clasped behind his back.

“My Lord,” Hama said, kneeling before Théoden, the hilt of a broadsword pointed toward him. Théoden’s fingers shook as he touched the hilt before curling them around the handle and pulled the sword free. He stared at the blade and his eyes shifted toward Gimli. Wormtongue cowered before him, still caught in Gimli’s clutches.

“Seize him!” Théoden roared. “Throw him out of my house!” Two guards grabbed Wormtongue and pulled him to his feet, dragging him to the doors and threw him to the ground. He groaned, gasping for air when his back hit the gravel. Théoden descended the stairs, a furious glint in his eyes, his sword still clutched in his hands.

Wormtongue backed away, eyes wide. “I only _ever_ served you, my lord! I swear it!”

“Your leechcraft would have me crawling on all fours like a beast!”

“My lord, I implore you! Send me not from your sight!” Théoden roared, lifting his blade in the air. Wormtongue screamed. Aragorn seized Théoden’s arm.

“No, my lord! No!” he shouted. “Enough blood has been spilt on his account.” Théoden glared at Aragorn and Wormtongue took the opportunity to escape.

“ _Hail Théoden King!_ ”

Aragorn released his arm and bowed. Frodo followed suit as the people knelt before Théoden. How long had it been since he’d seen the sun? Frodo could not say, but it felt good to have been a part of freeing him from Wormtongue’s clutches. Théoden searched the crowd.

“Where is Theodred?” he asked. He turned to the woman. “Eowyn, where is my son?”

Eowyn closed her eyes and bowed her head, biting her lower lip. Théoden ascended the stairs again, hobbling as fast as his legs could go, weak though they were.

#

A mourning song echoed around them that night, candles threatened to blow out in the wind. White flowers fell around the stone grave as the corpse of the prince was laid within. Gandalf stayed with Théoden while the others marched back to Edoras. Boromir stayed with Eowyn in silence, allowing her to grieve.

“I can’t imagine what pain he must be going through,” Frodo whispered. Legolas looked at him. “I mean, were it the other way around, I think I could help, but then again, perhaps not. My parents died before I had the chance to really know them.”

“I do not think there are words to aid the grieved, at least not in the early stages. Give them time,” he said. “The King’s heart will heal. He is not without heirs, after all.” Frodo swallowed, remaining silent. Legolas touched his shoulder. “Are you well, Frodo? Is your wound hurting?”

“No,” Frodo said, reaching for the stab wound. “I’m fine. It’s cooler than the rest of me, but it doesn’t bother me.”

“Good,” Legolas said, releasing his shoulder. They arrived at the gates and filed inside. Servants led the company to rooms for them. Frodo thanked the servants and they left. He paused outside his door and turned to look at Legolas’ room. Inhaling, he approached it and knocked.

The door opened and Legolas looked down at him. “Is there something you need, Frodo?” he asked, kneeling. Frodo sighed, shaking his head.

“I don’t understand why you took your anger out on me that day, but I guess…I don’t think I can go to Mordor with this anger in my heart. I’m angry almost all the time these days and I’ve no idea why. When we arrived here, I—” He swallowed. “I had thoughts about taking the city. Ideas of how to do it just…popped into my head. I’d never do it, of course, I’ve no reason to take Rohan as my own. What use would I have for it? I didn’t think anything of it then, but could it be that…that it’s the Ring?”

“It’s possible,” Legolas said. “Do you want to come inside?”

Frodo shook his head. “I want to apologize. I shouldn’t have pushed you away for as long as I did. I was hurt and I held onto that hurt, but I don’t think holding onto it has been making the quest easier for me to handle. And it’s not doing me any good lying to myself anyway. Legolas, I still love you. I just didn’t want to believe that I could still love you. I wanted to hate you because of how deeply you broke my heart. But I can’t. Legolas, I can’t. I love you. Can you forgive me?”

Legolas stared at him, shocked. He pulled Frodo close, pressing their foreheads together. “I have forgiven you a long time ago, _melleth nîn._ I should apologize as well. I have tried many times to do so, but it never seemed right. Can you forgive me too? I was wrong to speak to you like that, Frodo. I was terrified of what I was feeling for you. I’d never act on it at the time because you were still a child, but you’ve grown up and I can’t imagine having never loved you back.”

“I forgive you,” Frodo whispered, closing his eyes. It felt like a grip around his chest was cut loose and he could breathe again. He laughed, tears welling in his eyes. “I forgive you, Legolas.”


	15. Chapter 15

_Fire…So much fire._

_Smoke chocked him, smothering his lungs and burning his throat._

_“There is nothing in the void…”_

_Frodo turned to the voice, voice caught in his throat from the sight. The eye was great and terrible. It seemed to seep through him, seemed to lay everything about him bare and naked._

_“Only death…”_

Frodo bolted upright, fingers tearing at the blankets. A drop of sweat trickled down his temple, wetting his temple, jaw, and neck. His hands shook. He pulled his legs up and hid his face in between his knees. His heart jumped in his chest and his eyes stung.

_Frodo Baggins, stop being so foolish! You’ve not gotten to the worst part of the journey yet. It was just a nightmare. Only a nightmare. You’re not a bairn anymore. Pull yourself together._

He sighed and sought the foot stool he was given to help get into the Man-sized bed. A servant entered to let him know a bath has been readied for him. Frodo thanked him and went to the tub. It was a child’s tub, but he wouldn’t fault them that as he let the water sooth his tense muscles. He didn’t expect Rohan to become such a reprieve and he was going to suck it in, nightmares be _damned_.

After the bath, Frodo dried and dressed, fixed his braids and baubles, strapped Sting around his waist and went to the great hall. Save for Gandalf and Théoden and a trio of servants laying out a bountiful breakfast, the hall was empty. They turned to him and morning greetings were exchanged. Aragorn arrived next, heading outside with is pipe. Then Gimli, who piled a plate high with meat and bread. Boromir arrived next, yawning. Legolas arrived last, wrapped in his cloak and hair in slight disarray. Gimli almost choked on a laugh seeing him. Frodo bit his lip to keep a smile off his own face.

Aragorn, when he came inside laughed. “What happened to you?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Legolas said, shoving an elbow into Gimli’s ribs. It only made him laugh harder, hiding behind a hand and shoulders hunched. “Might’ve been better off just staying up.”

“I’m sure Lady Eowyn will be kind enough to loan you a spare comb,” Boromir teased. Legolas gestured foully at him. Frodo snorted, earning a glare from Legolas. He wisely ducked his head and stuffed an apple slice in his mouth. There was nothing to be done about his smile, unfortunately.

“Speaking of,” Boromir turned to Théoden. “Will she be joining us this morning?”

Théoden arched a brow at him. “My niece prefers to dine with her brother or alone.”

Boromir’s grin faltered. “Oh. I see.”

Gimli arched a brow and Frodo tried to stay unnoticeable to Boromir as he sniggered. Legolas ignored them drinking cider and coming his fingers through tangled hair. Frodo sighed and took Legolas’ hand away from his head.

“If you’re okay with it, I can braid it for you in a way that will keep it from tangling at night.”

Gimli coughed, pounding his chest. Gandalf’s eyebrows rose up. Legolas stared at him, a faint blush on his cheeks. Frodo released Legolas’ hand, hating how warm his face felt.

“Or not—”

“You may,” Legolas said.

Gandalf hummed, grinning at them. Frodo didn’t know what was going on in Gandalf’s head, but whatever it was, he was certain he didn’t really want to know. After their fast had been broken, Frodo and Legolas retreated to Frodo’s room.

Legolas sat on the floor cross-legged and Frodo dragged the teeth of his comb through Legolas’ hair. “I’m afraid I don’t know how to weave Elven braids,” Frodo mumbled apologetically as he began a three-strand braid above Legolas temple. “I hope you don’t mind Dwarven ones.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Legolas replied.

Frodo gave him the braid, asking him to hold it together and began braiding a second lock on the other side. He took the first braid and clasped them together in the back of Legolas’ head before making the two small braids into a longer four-strand one down his back. He cleared his throat.

“These two,” Frodo said touching the dual three-strand braids. “Are warrior braids. Usually we have one for each weapon we master, so I gave you two. One for the bow and one for the sword. This one,” he handed the third to Legolas, “represents your station or class, which is royalty. I’m afraid it emulates my uncle Thorin’s. That’s all right, is it? If not—”

“No, its fine,” Legolas assured him, “Thank you.”

“There’re two more I’m, uh, going to put in,” Frodo said, blushing again.

“Which are?”

“A courting braid,” he said. “It…usually goes on the right side of your head in front of the ear and it usually is paired with a braid of intent that is braided on the left side. The courting braid holds the color of your…pursuer’s paternal family while the intent braid is the one of his or her maternal family…I, uh, am going to braid them behind your ears though because you’ll not want them get them caught in the bow string.”

Frodo’s fingers trembled as he began the first braid. A (very large) part of it was fear. What if it fell apart again? What if his heart was broken a second time? What if? What if?

_What if?_

The other part was giddiness reminding him that he’d been waiting to braid Legolas’ hair for years before he tried to squash every emotion tied to Legolas until there was just a heavy weight of anger and resentment.

He secured it with an emerald bead. The left he clasped with a ruby bead. Frodo’s mouth felt tight as he walked around to see how they looked on Legolas.

Trembling fingers or not, they were well made. “Better?” he asked.

“Much. Thank you. Though, if we run into more Elves, they may think Gimli and I are courting.”

“We’ll just have to correct them, then,” Frodo said, frowning. “After all, a Hobbit should be better received than a Dwarf, right?”

Legolas laughed. “Elves do happen to have a fascination for your people. Before I wrote Hobbits off as a legend, I and my friends would go ‘Hobbit-hunting.’ It wasn’t in malice or anything. We were under the impression that if we caught one, a Hobbit would grant us one wish in return for food.”

Frodo grinned. “Bilbo told me that Hobbit fauntlings would explore woods around the Shire in search of Elves. Though catching them was never part of it. More interested in Elven magic, I think.”

Legolas leaned back on his hands. “Do you wish you knew the Shire?” Frodo’s grin died.

“Sometimes. A few years after I started living in Erebor, Bilbo and Thorin left for a year to get Bag End back. Fili and Dwarka ruled as regent at that time. I loathed being left behind. I heard so much about it from Bilbo and I _wanted_ to see the Shire so much. I wasn’t without friends. There were always Dwarflings around and but I aged faster than them so our friendships deteriorated quickly. And I aged slower than the children of Men, so that also didn’t work well. Bilbo always felt bad about that, but it was too dangerous to go to the Shire…But if I didn’t live in Erebor, I don’t think I’d have known who I am or what I must do. It would have happened anyway, I’m sure of that…”

Legolas took his hands and kissed them. “I am sorry to hear that. But you weren’t completely alone, were you?”

“No. Gimli and Kili were apt playmates when I was little. Then they became my combat teachers along with Dwalin and had _far_ too much fun making me land on my arse.”

Legolas kissed his hands again. “You’re an exceptional warrior because of their dedication.” Frodo shrugged. He _was_ pretty good.

Three hard raps on the door drew them away from the bubble growing around them and Boromir entered without admittance. Legolas dropped Frodo’s hands.

“You need to get back to the great hall,” he said. They followed him.

Eating at the table were two children. A woman knelt before them, talking to them. She stood and turned to Théoden. “They had no warning,” she said. “Orcs are crossing through Rohan and Saruman had turned the Wild Men against us. They move through the West Fold—”

“Where’s Mama?” the girl asked. The woman hushed her, stroking her hair. Théoden sighed, hiding his face in his hand.

Frodo took a seat by Gimli, leaning on his knees. Legolas leaned against the wall, his arms crossed.

“This is but a taste of the terror Saruman plans to unleash,” Gandalf said. “Ride out and meet him. You _must_ fight. Draw him away from your women and children.”

“You have two thousand good men riding North as we speak,” Aragorn said. “Eomer is loyal to you. He will come back.”

“They will be a hundred leagues from here by now!” Théoden shouted. Gandalf opened his mouth. Théoden held up a hand. “I know what you would have me do, but I will _not_ risk further harm to my people. I will _not_ risk open war.”

Frodo bristled, straightening. “It’s not an option,” he said. “They will come and they will fight. Even if you do not strike first, you will _have_ to fight.”

“Open war is upon you,” Aragorn added. “Whether you would risk it or not.”

Théoden sneered. “Last I checked, it was Théoden, not Aragorn, nor Frodo, who is king of Rohan.”

“Then what is the king’s decision?” Gandalf asked. Théoden sighed.

“We will go to Helm’s Deep.”

Gandalf’s brow darkened. “Théoden, that is _far_ from wise.”

“There is nowhere safer.”

“You’ll be trapped!”

“That is assuming they manage to get in! The fortress has held for generations. I will hold now. My people will go to Helm’s Deep and if war comes we have a better chance at defending ourselves _there_ than anywhere else.” He sent Hama to give the order and retreated. Gandalf strode out of the hall. Frodo followed with Aragorn.

“Gandalf?” Frodo asked cautiously.

“Gandalf, you know he’s only doing what he thinks is best for his people.”

Gandalf scoffed. “They flee to the mountains when they should stand and fight! There is no way _out_ of that mountain. Théoden is walking into a trap.” They enter the stables and Gandalf mounted his horse. “Frodo, Aragorn, I ride on. At dawn on the fifth day, look to the east.”

“Swift speed and the grace of the Valar be with you,” Frodo said, stepping aside. Shadowfax raced through the city and out the gates. Frodo sighed. “We best get ready to go.”

“Interesting braids you chose for Legolas,” Aragorn said nonchalantly. Frodo glared at him, hating how hot his face felt.

“And what is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Well, from the way Gimli was acting, I can guess that there’s some sort of significance to hair braiding…and he was muttering under his breath about needing to talk to a pointy-eared tree-shagger.”

Frodo groaned. “I shouldn’t have left them alone.”

“Perhaps not.”


	16. Chapter 16

They would leave with the royal family in a matter of hours. Frodo spent most of the time watching the servants bustle about, filling chests and packing sacks. They scurried by him without so much as a glance in his direction.

He didn’t mind being ignored. He figured it’d be easier for them to go about whatever they need to without getting distracted by him or anyone else in the company. Besides, it allowed him to smoke in peace and think. Gimli had given Legolas a warning and, thankfully, Legolas brushed it off. Aragorn had gone to talk to Hama and Boromir was waiting with him, sharing his leaf.

The lady Eowyn was helping pack a chest and Frodo couldn’t help but want to tease Boromir each time his eyes followed her. She paused, staring at something in a chest. Her hand picked up a sword which she held with ease. She unsheathed the blade, swinging it around with practiced ease.

Frodo glanced at Boromir. He was staring at her, eyes wide and unblinking.

Poor fool had it _bad_.

Frodo nudged him. “Go talk to her.”

“What?”

“Now before her uncle comes back. _Go_.”

Boromir stood and approached. He ducked, almost getting his. He pulled his sword out and parried her blow. They exchanged a few words, but it didn’t seem that Eowyn was that impressed with him.

Frodo decided to leave them be, finding Aragorn and Gimli with Hama. “Have either of you seen Legolas?” he asked.

“I’m afraid not,” Aragorn said. “He might be up at the guard tower, surveying the land to make sure our road is clear.”

“Thanks. Oh! Boromir’s talking to Eowyn at last.”

“I can’t tell whether I pity him,” Gimli said, “Or just want to laugh.”

“It’s a mix of both,” Frodo admitted. “Go laugh at him while it lasts. I’ll get our Elf.”

“We could just leave him,” Gimli muttered. Frodo shot him a scathing glare. He just began courting said Elf. He wasn’t about to leave him behind.

#

He found him sitting on the rail and stepped beside him. “I don’t think I’ll be able to catch you if you were to fall,” He said.

Legolas snorted, swinging his legs over to the platform. “You’d be squashed, I’m afraid. But it matters not. I’d land on my feet. We Elves are quite feline.”

Frodo laughed. “We’re about ready to go. Aragorn and Gimli are laughing at Boromir about now.”

“Why?” Legolas asked. Frodo told him about his attempt at talking to Eowyn. Legolas sighed. “You shouldn’t tease him so much.”

“Why not? It’s fun.”

“Perhaps to you.”

“We’ll be nice,” Frodo said. “I promise. Now, we should get back to the Hall before Aragorn comes looking for us. Who can tell how long it will be before we reach Helm’s Deep.”

“About two days by foot,” Legolas said, heading down the stairs with Frodo by his side. “So long as there are no attacks, we should be able to get there quickly enough.”

“Well then, we should hope there are no attacks.”

#

There had been no word for weeks, nearly months. Bilbo was out of his mind with worry, pacing their chambers to and fro. Would it _kill_ Frodo to send a letter? Anything to let him know he was all right? He looked in the mirror.

His hair was greyer, his face more wrinkled, his paunch closer to how a Hobbit’s should be. But his hair should be whiter, his face older.

They were suspicious and guessed that it had to do with the times he had used the Ring in the past, but it had been so long since he used it, he thought that he should be aging normally rather than at this… _delayed_ aging. He only used the Ring a handful of times, less so since his return to the Shire and then never since discovering what it was.

He should still look like a Hobbit close to a hundred. He should be losing his memory or his sight or hearing… _something_. But he looked barely over seventy, was as hale as was when he _was_ seventy—and _those_ years had been filled with far too much trouble both inside and out of the mountain.

Bilbo sighed and left the room. He needed to distract himself with something.  Anything to get the fact that his youngest nephew was only Yavanna and Mahal knew where in Middle Earth.

He knew he wasn’t alone. Legolas had gone with him. And Gimli. And apparently a Man who is known to Elrond. And Gandalf. Gandalf being there was one of the only things that really made Bilbo feel calmer about it all.

The court doors were open and Dwarves were filing out, they bowed to Bilbo and he peered inside.

Thorin was still there, staring at parchment. Fili and Kili were in the corner, talking quietly to themselves. Bilbo stepped inside and sat beside Thorin, taking his hand in his own.

“Any word?”

“None,” Thorin said. “Damn boy should know how to send a raven by now.”

“He might not have had time,” Bilbo said, more to himself than to Thorin. “I don’t recall anyone sending letters to their families during our quest unless they had the time to and half of it we were running from Orcs, if nothing else.”

Thorin hummed, giving Bilbo’s hand a little squeeze, lifting the paper with the other.

“This is from Thranduil. He isn’t happy with Legolas running off with Frodo and Gimli on this venture. The last letter accused me and Bain of holding him hostage for whatever mad reason.”

“Did you correct him?”

“Kili wrote his account and demanded the guards who saw Legolas last do the same. There are at most five accounts stating that he went with Frodo to Mordor. And now he’s accusing me of not doing anything to stop him. As if I _knew_ he would go with Frodo! Let alone that Frodo would let him…” he switched to Khuzdul, muttering insults under his breath.

He had, as true to his nature, been slower to forgive Legolas for breaking their lad’s heart so cruelly. He never liked Frodo’s crush on Legolas to begin with and when _that_ had happened…

Bilbo always suspected something more behind that fight. It seemed odd that Legolas, who was such a good playmate for Frodo as a child, would be so hurtful purposefully.

When he spoke to Thranduil that day, he had seemed strained, uptight, and admitted to having an argument with Legolas when Bilbo lectured him for being so short with him. What they argued about, Bilbo did not press to know.

“Regardless _why_ Legolas went with Frodo, he did and even if their past is a bit… _shaky_ I trust him with Frodo. I believe he’ll keep him safe.”

Thorin sighed, setting the paper down and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You think he’s still alive?” Thorin asked, looking at Bilbo.

Like Bilbo, age had claimed him. His once beautiful, black hair was now entirely silver, his beard fuller, longer, and often tucked into his belt to keep it from getting in his way. He hated it when Bilbo tugged on his beard for any reason, but often times it was the only thing Bilbo could do to get his fool of a husband to listen most days.

Not so right now.

“Yes,” Bilbo said. “I believe he is. It would take nearly half a year to get there if all goes well for him. And since there’s been no attacks since the mention of black robed knights in Laketown, and since there has been no shadow descending over our lands, I think it is safe to say that Frodo is still alive. He’s a strong lad and you shouldn’t doubt his strength. You had a hand in making him as strong as he is. You and Kili and Gimli and Dwalin all had a hand.”

“I do not doubt his strength,” Thorin mumbled. “Nor his valor. Rather, it’s his common sense I doubt. The Elf is only going to distract him.”

“So says you,” Bilbo said, pulling some of the papers away from him.

“You were distracting at the worst of times.”

Bilbo set the page down, glaring at Thorin. “ _Excuse me_?!” It was hard to really get over that Thorin thought him a burden early on in the adventure. His harsh words at the time often left Bilbo feeling inadequate and miserable. They had a silent agreement never to talk about it, since it was still a sore spot. That and _the incident with the shiny mathoms we do not talk about_.

Thorin grinned. “You were,” he said, leaning on the table again, eyes fixed on Bilbo. Fili and Kili retreated, closing the door behind them. “How you thought your Hobbity attire would be practical on an adventure did _not_ make sense to me and it left rather little to the imagination.” Bilbo tried not to blush as he hit Thorin’s nose with the papers. “ _Ow_!”

“Only _you_ would have something to say on what I wore!” Bilbo snapped. “Everyone else didn’t care. They actually _accepted_ that the way Hobbits and Dwarves dress was based on _culture_!”

“I accepted it,” Thorin said, rubbing his nose. “I just said it wasn’t practical.”

“ _Left little to the imagination_?” Bilbo growled.

“So I thought you were enticing. It worked out in the end didn’t it?”

“You just admitted that you were looking at my arse nearly half the adventure. _Before_ we were courting, I assume. I don’t really know how to feel about that, Thorin.”

Thorin bit his lip, unable to stop his smile. “And it’s still a very lovely arse.”

Bilbo pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. _I am not going to laugh_ , he vowed.

He stood, pushing the papers back to Thorin. “Clearly I’m distracting you _now_ , so I’ll make my leave,” he said. “I’ll see you at dinner tonight.” He leaned down to kiss Thorin goodbye, but squeaked when Thorin pulled him into his lap.

 _Insufferable and ridiculous Dwarf_ , Bilbo thought as Thorin coaxed deeper kisses from him. He tangled his fingers in Thorin’s beard, tilting his head up. _Only the gods know why I love him._

They broke for air and Bilbo took the opportunity to slide off Thorin’s lap. “I’ll be in the library if you need anything, Love.”

“I’ll find you before dinner then.”

Bilbo scowled. “I don’t lose track of time _that_ often.” Thorin arched a brow. “Do I?”

“You do.”


	17. Chapter 17

The day was bright and the sun bore down on the Hornburg at midday.

Frodo could hear Gimli ahead of him, talking to Eowyn about Dwarf women and taking the chance to tell her about Ara. Frodo recalled he never did get to ask about what was going on between his friend and the Lady of the Wood.

He shrugged it off. If they got a moment to discuss it and if he still remembered, then he would worry about it then. For now, he was more concerned about getting to Helm’s Deep.

 The Ring burned against his skin, growing heavier and nearly pulling him down. Frodo breathed deeply, straightening his back and looking forward.

 _Do not think about the Ring_ , he told himself. _Just make sure it stays close to you._

“Frodo?”

He looked at Aragorn. “Yes?”

“Are you well? You’re a bit pale.”

Frodo nodded. “It’s getting heavier. Maybe sapping my energy.”

“Is it resting against your skin?”

“Yes.”

“Have it between your mail and tunic,” Aragorn suggested. “It may be the skin contact that is making it drain you so. And drink some water.”

Aragorn handed him a waterskin. Frodo thanked him, shifting the ring from beneath the mithril mail to above it and drinks three deep gulps from the skin.

“You know, you’re as pesky as the other healers I know.”

“That’s because I _am_ a healer,” Aragorn said, snorting. “I studied under my foster-father.”

“We’re in good hands then,” Frodo said, smiling at him. He handed the waterskin back and searched the crowds. “Damn it.”

“What?”

“Legolas has disappeared again. I swear on Yavanna’s hoe, he is fidgety and restless and I don’t know what to do with him. Is it too much to ask that he stay in one—”

“WARGS!!!”

Aragorn climbed up behind him and they followed the other riders, meeting the Wargs and their riders.

Frodo jumped off the horse so not to get in Aragorn’s way. He unsheathed Sting, holding it in front of him. An Orc raced at him on his Warg, its own sword meeting Sting.

He parried, ramming the blade into the Warg’s hip bone. The beast fell with a scream and the Orc jumped off as it fell, racing at Frodo. Frodo parried each angry blow, forced onto the defensive.

Another Orc snuck from behind and tried to grab him, Frodo ducked and jumped out of the way as his first opponent stabbed the second. The Orc seemed startled. He turned to Frodo, grinding his teeth.

“Stay still you filthy little maggot!” he roared. “And let me see the color of your innards!”

Another Orc stopped him, staring at Frodo. Then he snarled.

 “It’s the Halfling!”

“ _The Halfling?!_ ”

“Get him!”

Frodo swore as three Orcs descended on him. Frodo jumped away from them. A fourth cut off his path to the others, his Warg snarling low.

“Nowhere to run, Halfling!”

Frodo growled, looking at each of his opponents in the eye.

Four on one.

Each of them bigger than Frodo.

They’d probably take him for granted because of his height though they’d probably never _dare_ underestimate a Dwarf.

Frodo brandished Sting in front of him, waiting for them to attack him first. In the scuffle, he should be able to get away from them and, hopefully, stab one of them through the spine.

One jerked then fell, an arrow embedded in his neck. They turned on Legolas, giving Frodo an opportunity to cut the stomach of on and stab Sting through its eye.

He parried a blow from the remaining Warg-less Orc, swinging his sword around and embedding Sting into its gut. He pulled it free, and wiped it clean of blood.

“GET ME OUT FROM UNDER HERE!!!” Gimli shouted. Frodo laughed, approaching.

“What happened here?” he asked.

Gimli glared at him. He was pinned under two Wargs and an Orc, but uninjured. Save to his ego.

Frodo dropped Sting, pushing the corpses up on his back. Boromir helped him and Gimli crawled out.

“Don’t. Ask,” he snarled. “Not _one_ word. Say _nothing_ to the Elf. I will _never_ live it down if he knew.”

“Knew what?” Legolas asked, joining them. “That you spent most of the battle safely pinned under…how many stones would two Wargs and a biggish Orc be?”

Gimli glared at him. “I bloody hate you.”

Legolas grinned, wiping his twin daggers free of blood.

Frodo picked up Sting. All of the Orcs were either dead or injured, given the still faint glow.

“Where’s Aragorn?” Boromir asked, eyes darting over the field.

They split up, calling his name. A choked laugh beckoned them to an injured Orc. Gimli pressed the blade of his ax against the Orc’s neck.

“Tell me what happened to the Ranger?” he demanded.

The Orc snickered. “He’s dead,” he said. Legolas, Boromir, and Frodo joined Gimli. “Took a little tumble off the cliff.” Boromir snarled.

“Lies!” he snapped. The Orc laughed and Gimli looked over the ravine. “Aragorn can’t be dead.”

“He isn’t,” Legolas said. “I know him, he _isn’t_ dead.”

“Lads, if he did fall, no one could survive it,” Gimli said sadly, “Unless they have some sort of mad luck or god on their side.”

The Orc stilled and Sting’s light died. A silver glint caught their eye and Legolas pulled out the Evenstar from the Orc’s hand.

“Get the injured on horses!” Théoden shouted. “Leave the dead.” The companions stared at him and he bowed his head.

Frodo didn’t want to agree with him. He didn’t want to give up hope that Aragorn was somehow alive, but they couldn’t take the time to look for him. He looked at the others.

“I believe he’s alive,” he assured them. “And I believe he will find us when he is able. Until then, we have to wait for Gandalf and he will meet us at Helm’s Deep.”

“So we leave?” Legolas accused.

“What choice do we have?” Frodo asked. “Please, _âzyungel_ , trust me. If he lives he will come, but I cannot waste the time we have now to search for one Ranger.”

“Yet you were willing to risk everything to go after Gandalf when you believed he was dead,” Legolas hissed. Frodo tensed, his anger bristling.

“If you want to stay and search for him, _fine_ ,” Frodo said, cleaning Sting on the grass. “But I can’t. I don’t have time to spare!” He sheathed the blade. “And I was foolish then, I admit, but was it not _you_ who told me to not spare time to search for someone who may or may not be dead? It _pains_ me to leave him behind with no proof of his fate. He was my friend, too, or becoming one. So _don’t_ treat me like I’m the villain, Legolas.”

He stormed away, pulled onto a horse with one of Théoden’s riders.

The remainder of the ride to Helm’s Deep is tense.

He knew he shouldn’t avoid Legolas as he was, but Frodo couldn’t stand to talk to him right now. Their relationship had just begun to repair and he wished they could have avoided fighting.

Why Legolas always seemed to want to fight with him, Frodo couldn’t fathom.

They arrived at Helm’s Deep before nightfall, greeted by the Lady Eowyn, who asked after Aragorn. Frodo glanced at Boromir, whose face was dark as he strode by.

 _Oh dear_ , Frodo thought.

He wished he had something to say to Boromir, but decided against it. Boromir would calm down in his own time.

The entered the hall and laid out their bedrolls.

 Frodo lit his pipe and leaned back, wishing he at least had a book with him. Instead, he stared at his feet, wondering if he’d get a chance at all to wash them and redo the braids in them…

“Frodo?” He looked up at Legolas, who knelt. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insinuate that you are heartless. I know you and Aragorn were starting to get along and I was glad to see that you both were able to overcome the history you both share.”

“I know,” Frodo said. “That doesn’t mean I’m not cross. I won’t tolerate hypocrites, Legolas.” He winced. “And now it is my turn to apologize. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s true,” Legolas sighed, sitting beside him. “My people—Elves, I mean—for all our wisdom, we _are_ hypocrites. We believe ourselves better at understanding nature, but we are unskilled gardeners compared to Hobbits. We judge Dwarves for their greed though our history has shown that we are just as greedy. And we blame so much evil on Men when we ourselves are capable of the same evils.

“We are hypocrites. We are vain and prideful and drink in the glory and honor which Men lay at our feet and let the hatred Dwarves show us get under our skin.”

Frodo blew a smoke ring. “You aren’t _all_ like that,” he said. “And Aragorn’s a long time friend of yours. I’d feel and maybe act the same as you if anything happened to Gimli. Though, I think I’d be a bit more…um…”

“Passionate?”

Frodo nodded. “I don’t have your calm.”

“I’m not calm,” Legolas said. “I’m _never_ calm.”

Frodo stared at him. Legolas’ hands shook and his body was tense. “I’m always so…strung out. And it’s a matter of time before I snap like a frayed bowstring.”

“Your father?” Frodo asked.

Legolas stared at him, and nodded. “My father has put quite a bit of…pressure on me. I’m his heir, after all. I suppose he just…wants what’s best for me, but there’s a line from wanting to protect your children when you’ve all but restricted them from leaving your kingdom.”

Frodo set his pipe down and stood, pressing a kiss to Legolas’ cheek. “Take the time to relax, Legolas. We don’t have the time and being as strung out as you are will only hurt you later and it could hurt those who you care for. I have been on the receiving end of your ire before and it is not someplace I want t be, _men âzyungel_ ,” he pressed his forehead to Legolas’. “So if you’re angry, tell me and tell me why, do not take it out on me.”

Legolas nodded, closing his eyes and sighing, taking one of Frodo’s hands in his own. “What if he _is_ dead? How am I supposed to tell Arwen?”

Frodo didn’t know how to answer that. He hugged Legolas, stamping another kiss on his forehead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~Khuzdul~
> 
> Men âzyungel=my love


	18. Chapter 18

Settling into Helm’s Deep did not take as long as they had thought it would.

Frodo took the time to write a letter to his uncles, detailed and long, guessing that having gone so long without contacting them would leave Bilbo and Thorin in a fit of worry. His uncles weren’t getting any younger and he didn’t want to cause them too much stress if he could help it.

He’d rather they die _after_ the ring was destroyed.

 At the least, it was preferable.

Frodo leaned against the banister, watching the raven fly off. His gaze lowered to the fields lying before Helm’s Deep. He furrowed his brow, standing.

A lone rider was coming. Frodo left the tower and ran to the wall. A guard stopped him.

“It’s Lord Aragorn,” he said.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, my lord,” he said, rushing past Frodo to inform the others. Frodo raced down the stairs.

“Where is he?!” Gimli bellowed. “Where is he? I’m gonna kill him!”

Aragorn descended his horse. He was dirty, bloodied, and Frodo caught the scenet of toilet coming from him.

Gimli pushed through the crowd. “You,” he said, “are the canniest, bravest, and most reckless man I’ve ever known. Bless you, Lad.”

“I take it the definition of ‘I’m going to kill him’ has shifted to ‘welcome home?’” Frodo asked.

“ _Gelek menu caragu rukhs_ ,” Gimli snapped.

“Me or him?”

Aragorn laughed. “Where’s Théoden?”

“In the upper level,” Frodo said. “Kind of hard to miss the king’s quarters.” Aragorn thanked him and went ascended the stairs. Frodo glanced at Gimli. “I still fail to see how welcoming him is equivalent to killing him.”

“I was in the moment.”

Aragorn reappeared. “Are you two coming? I’ve news the entire fellowship should hear?”

“Good news?” Gimli asked.

“Alas, no.”

Frodo sighed. “When is it ever?”

They followed him, trying to wheedle the information out of him, but Aragorn remained silent and ignored them, almost running into Legolas.

“You’re late,” Legolas said, smirking. He sniffed and looked over him. “You look terrible.”

“He smells terrible, too,” Frodo added, earning a shove. He laughed at Aragorn’s annoyed glare. “We’re glad you’re alive, and show appreciation by being total arses.”

“I’ve noticed,” Aragorn said, opening the doors. The council silenced, staring at him. “You’re majesty,” he said, approaching Théoden. “You need to prepare for battle.”

“Why?”

 “Orcs of Isengard are on their way here right now.”

“How many strong?”

“At least ten thousand.”

Silence clawed at them.

Frodo sat down, feeling a little queasy. He reached for the Ring. Legolas took his hand instead. “Did I…”

“No,” Legolas whispered. “Saruman targeted Rohan before we showed up. It’s not your fault they’re coming here, _melleth_.”

“ _Ten thousand_?” Théoden repeated.

Frodo fled the room and locked himself into his own, leaning against the door. They didn’t have enough men to fight Isengard. He slid to the ground, hiding his face in his hands.

He wished Gandalf was here.

He wished he had just continued on to Mordor.

He didn’t regret coming to Théoden’s aid, but as soon as they got rid of Wormtongue…maybe Frodo should have left.

Someone rapped on the door.

“Frodo?” Legolas called. “May I come in?”

Frodo stood, opening the door, letting him enter.

Legolas knelt as Frodo closed the door. “Are you well?”

“Not really. I feel like I might…I should have just continued on Eastward…”

Legolas took his hands and kissed them. “Frodo, it’s _not_ your fault that this is happening.”

“Even if it isn’t, _ten thousand Orcs_ …”

“All the more reason to get out of this alive,” Legolas said. “Aragorn is urging Théoden to call for aid and I’ve sent word to Lothlorien. We are not without allies yet.”

_At dawn on the fifth day, look to the East…_

_It’s been four days since…_

“When will they be here?”

“Tonight,” Legolas said.

“Then we just have to last the night.”

#

A few hours of combat lessons to farmers, smiths, and masons would not make them warriors, but it would help them keep alive for a bit longer.

Frodo and Gimli were aiding the young men—no better than _boys_ —in how to properly hold a weapon and how to use it against a foe.

The sun was setting and the Orcs have yet to arrive.

“Can we survive this?”

Frodo looked at Boromir. “I don’t know. But we have to try.”

Boromir shook his head. “It’s hopeless.”

“Only if you give up on hope,” Frodo corrected.

“Do you ever give up?” Boromir asked.

“Have you?”

He shook his head. “Not yet. Gondor is under constant attack from Orcs. Since I’ve become an adult, I’ve never _not_ been fighting. In a life like that the lack of peace tends to get to you, and you become desperate for it all to end, to just stop fighting because otherwise you’ll die fighting without knowing if you ever made a difference.”

“And that’s why you wanted the Ring?”

“I know it was folly now, but it still beckons me, taunts me.” Boromir sighed. “Will it stop?”

“No,” Frodo said. “It won’t stop. So yes, you’re going to keep fighting. It and them. Because giving up or giving in is not an option and you know that better than anyone here this day.”

Frodo sat on a crate.

“My uncle, Thorin Oakenshield, you’d get along with him. He’s a lot like you, Boromir…or who you might be like. He fought all his life for his people after they lost their home to a dragon. He was still a child at the time, but he did what he could to scrape by. And he was certain he wouldn’t succumb to gold-madness, dragon-fever, or whatever you want to call it.

“But he did and it cost him ten years of loneliness and pining for my other uncle. It could have cost him so much more than it did. Sometimes he still feels the call of the gold, but he doesn’t underestimate it anymore and he fights it as best he can. Every day it’s still a battle and one he’s been fighting for nearly fifty years now.”

“I fail to see how it’s the same,” Boromir said. “That is a mountain of treasure that had been kept by a dragon for over a century. This is one ring.”

“It’s not _just_ a ring,” Frodo reminded him. “It’s _far_ more potent than any treasure you’ve ever laid eyes on. It’s _evil_ and if you think it bothers you, you’ve no idea what it does to me. I’m _just_ as susceptible to its wiles, Boromir. I just ignore its call.”

“Easier said than done.”

“ _Much_ easier said than done,” Frodo agreed. A horn echoed on the air, calling their attention to the walls.

“That’s not an Orc horn,” Boromir said.

“No it’s not.”

They ran for the stairs, descending to the entryway.

“What is the meaning of this?” Théoden asked, shocked. Haldir bowed to him.

“I come with greetings from the Lady of the Wood,” he said. “Long ago, Men and Elves fought and died together. We have come to honor that allegiance.”

Aragorn embraced him and Haldir patted his back awkwardly. Frodo tried not to laugh when they broke apart. The look on Haldir’s face was priceless, though he seemed to calm a little bit when Legolas greeted him, followed by Boromir.

“Where’s the Dwarf and Hobbit?”

“Hobbit’s right here,” Frodo said. “Gimli’s around somewhere.”

“Here I thought your guard preferred to be at your hip,” Haldir said, smirking.

Frodo shrugged. “He’s loosening up. And about time, too.” A drop of rain hit the top of his head and he muttered under his breath, glaring at the black clouds.

“Aragorn,” Haldir said. “Where would you…”

“Along the walls with the other archers,” he said, leading Haldir up the stairs.

“Maybe we can win,” Boromir said.

“Maybe,” Frodo said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~Khuzdul~
> 
> Gelek menu caragu rukhs=you smell like Orc dung


	19. Chapter 19

The Elves barely got into position when the Orcs arrived. The downpour of rain blinded their vision, drenching their hair to drip into their eyes. Gimli and Frodo stood on either side of Legolas. It was annoying not being tall enough to see.

“You could’ve picked a better spot,” Gimli grouched.

“I second that motion,” Frodo said.

Frodo jumped up, trying to catch a glimpse, failing miserably. He could barely see over the top of the banister. All he heard was the banging of weapons on armor and shield.

“What’s happening out there?” Gimli asked.

“Would you like me to describe it to you?” Legolas asked. “Or shall I get you both a box?” Frodo glared at him while Gimli laughed.

“That’s not funny.”

“Gimli’s laughing,” Legolas said. Frodo punched his leg. “Ow.” Aragorn passed by, shouting orders in Sindarin. Arrows were cast and with a roar below, the battle began. Frodo pulled Sting free, its glow shining in rain.

Iron ladders broke through the ranks, supported on the wall. The archers did what they could to stop the Orcs from climbing, but soon they were urged to switch to swords. Orcs jumped onto the battlements, roaring and swinging their blades. Frodo ducked, cutting the legs of one to bring it to his height before slitting its throat.

He spun around, stepping aside to avoid an overhead attack, slitting the Orc’s ankles and stabbing through the back.

“Legolas!” Gimli shouted. “Two already!”  Frodo stabbed another through the heart.

“I’m on sixteen!” Legolas shouted. Frodo cut down his fourth kill, stabbing it through the heart.

“What?!” Gimli sputtered, face turning red. “I won’t have some pointy ears outscoring me!”

“Then stop yammering!” Frodo snapped, stabbing the fifth. “I’m on five!”

“ _Men ishkhak darug menu uhyshâr_!” Gimli bellowed, slamming his ax into an Orc’s privates. Frodo winced. He almost pitied the monster.

He dodged another overhead attacked, slamming his foot into the Orc’s shin and cut the jugular vein, spraying the walls in blood. Legolas and Gimli kept their competition going, shouting out the number of their kills while Frodo lost count.

Aragorn bellowed in Sindarin and Archers aimed their bows at the bridge. Frodo jumped onto the ledge, Sting masked in black blood, but still shining through the darkness. Orcs were crossing it, covering themselves in their shields.

The arrows barely penetrated the iron shields and the wall rippled, Frodo scanned the ground below. The orcs were planting something in the nook of the wall.

“Haldir!” Frodo shouted. Haldir looked at him. “We need archers! Aim at the Orcs in the Hornburg!” Haldir gave the order. An Orc roared, racing at Frodo, who sliced Sting through the beasts head. He shoved the Orc off. A runner Orc carrying a torch raced by.

“KILL HIM!!” Frodo shouted. The Orc was pierced by arrows, but did not fall. “ _KILL HIM_!!” He stumbled falling into the crevice.

The walls exploded.

“Frodo!!!” Legolas shouted, reaching for him. Frodo grasped a solid rock, pulling himself up. Legolas gripped his shoulders. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

“No more than you are,” Frodo assured him. An Orc stood over Legolas. Frodo shoved him aside and stabbed the Orc in the thigh. Legolas stood, embedding his dagger into its throat. “Where’s Gimli and Aragorn?”

Legolas shrugged, searching. He glanced down. “By the Valar!”

“They’re _down there_?!” Frodo shouted, looking at the crater. Orcs swarmed the fort. Frodo looked at the bridge. The shields were rippling.

“What’s that?” an Elf asked.

“A battering ram,” Frodo snarled, barely hearing Théoden’s shout of “brace the gates.”

He and Legolas kept fighting on the wall, slaying as many as they dared. Frodo heard Aragorn and Gimli bellowing below, but could not feel relief at their survival.

Legolas grabbed a shield and used it to slide down the stairs, shooting as many Orcs as he could with his bow. Frodo bumped into Haldir.

“Glad to see you still live, Ringbearer.”

“Don’t sell me short _yet_ , Elf,” Frodo snapped.

“ARAGORN!!! FRODO!!!” Boromir bellowed. “FALL BACK TO THE KEEP!!!”

Aragorn screamed in Sindarin, demanding retreat. “Haldir! Frodo! To the keep!” he shouted.

Haldir nodded, giving the order. An Orc stabbed Haldir.

“NO!!!” Frodo shouted. Haldir cut him down, pressing his hand to the wound. Frodo turned around, spying an Orc aiming to cut Haldir down. He slit the Orcs shins and swung Sting down on its neck. It fell. Frodo grabbed Haldir’s shoulder.

Aragorn appeared, catching him. “Are you injured?” he asked.

“He was stabbed,” Frodo said. “Can you get him?”

“Legolas!” Aragorn shouted. Frodo stabbed an Orc trying to come up and threw the ladder down.

“The gates are shattered,” Legolas said, helping Haldir up. “Boromir and Théoden need aid to brace them.”

“Get Haldir to the healers,” Frodo said. “Aragorn, let’s go!” Aragorn stood in front and Frodo behind, guarding the Elves as best they could. As soon as Haldir was safe with the other injured, Frodo, Legolas, and Aragorn ran to meet Boromir and Gimli.

Théoden clutched as his shoulder which seeped blood.

“We can’t hold them much longer,” Boromir said. Frodo cursed.

“How long do you need?” Aragorn asked.

 “As long as you can give me,” Théoden said.

Aragorn grabbed Gimli, going through a side passage. Legolas climbed the wall, firing his arrows while Boromir and the others fetched wood or tried to hold the gates closed, fighting as hard as they could. Frodo examined Théoden’s wounds.

“I’ll be fine,” Théoden said.

“You say that now, but you will need to have that looked at.”

“They did it! Brace the gates!” Boromir shouted. Wood planks were brought and the gates boarded up. “Aragorn! Gimli! Get out of there!”

“Fall back to the keep!”

Boromir and Hama helped Théoden up. Frodo followed, shouting for Legolas to retreat. They entered the keep and Frodo cleaned Sting, staring at the window. The sky was getting lighter and the rain had stopped.

Legolas approached him and fell to his knees, gripping Frodo’s shoulders. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Just a few scratches here and there,” he said. “If I’m hurt, I’ve yet to notice it.” He turned to one of the cots and approached the healer. “How is he?”

“He’ll live, but he’s not fighting more tonight,” he said.

Haldir groaned, glaring at him, “Says you.”

“Warriors,” the healer scoffed, walking away an muttering under his breath.

“I’d listen to him whether you like it or not, my friend,” Frodo said. Haldir chuckled weakly.

“Well, I’ll have to if you say so. Thank you for saving my life,” Haldir said. “Though I fear it was for naught.”

“There’s still hope left,” Frodo said. “So until there’s none, I’d not give up.”

“You said the fort will hold so long as you had men to defend it!” Aragorn bellowed at Théoden. Frodo turned to him. “They still defend it! They _died_ defending it!”

Théoden sighed, shaking his head. Frodo approached. “What’s going on?”

“The king has given up,” Boromir sneered. Frodo glared at him and Aragorn. He looked at Théoden.

“Can you still fight?” Frodo asked. “Can your men still fight? If not, then despair and try to get the women and children out at least. If you can, then despair cannot be on the table yet. They don’t want the fortress. Taken or not, they won’t stop killing. So tell me: are you really just going to sit here and let them win? So let’s ride out one last time and fight to the last man. The choice is yours, my lord. We die like cowards or die like warriors. What fate would you give your men?”

Théoden looked at him. “Warriors,” he said, standing. “May the horn of Helm’s deep sound once more.”

“Yes!” Gimli shouted, running to blow it.

“Let this be the hour we draw swords together.”

Sunlight poured through the windows. Aragorn and Frodo glanced at each other, agreeing on one thing: Gandalf should be here any moment and with something that will turn the tide. They mounted horses and the doors broken open.

They charged, pushing the Orcs back. The sun rose in the east, lighting their way. They fought over the dead, felling as many Orcs as they could. Frodo stabbed one, eyes darting at a figure standing at the top of a hill.

A figure on a horse, robed in white. Another, armored figure joined him, raising his sword. They charged, joined by a host of others.

Frodo laughed, slaughtering Orcs with a grin gracing his face.

#

When Sting’s light died at last, Frodo sat on an Orc corpse with Gimli, breathing heavily. “We did it.”

“Aye, that we did, my lord,” Gimli said. They bumped fists.

“Gimli,” Legolas said, he looked rather pleased with himself. “My final count is eighty-one.”

Gimli hummed. “That’s not bad. For an Elf,” he said.

Frodo chuckled. “I’m glad to see you can be properly sporting about it,” he said.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Gimli asked. “I got eighty-two.”

Legolas’ grin died and Frodo laughed, falling onto his back. He yelped at the arrow that embedded between him and Gimli.

“What was that for?!” Gimli shouted.

“He was twitching.”

“Legolas, my sword isn’t glowing,” Frodo snapped.

“He’s twitching BECAUSE MY AX IS EMBEDDED IN ITS SKULL!!!” Gimli bellowed. Frodo shook his head. He was courting a child and his guard was a child. A man approached them.

“This one is the friend you spoke of?” he asked, looking at Frodo.

“Aye, he is,” Gimli said, smoking his pipe. The man knelt and held his hand out to Frodo.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you. And to offer my apologies. I fear my men may have almost trampled you when we killed your captors.”

“As you see I’m not trampled, so I consider it a win,” Frodo said, grasping his hand. “All is forgiven if forgiveness is really what you seek. Frodo Baggins son of Drogo Baggins, the Ring Bearer and nephew of the Consort under the Mountain.”

“Eomer son of Eomund, Sister-Son of the King of Rohan.” Eomer stood. “We’re gathering in the hall if you would like to come with us.”

“I believe we would,” Frodo said, getting up and following him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~Khuzdul~
> 
> Men ishkhak darug menu uhyshâr=I spit on the grave of your parents


	20. Chapter 20

Eowyn led their people back to Edoras in place of Théoden and Eomer. They and a small company of the Rohirrim ventured with the Fellowship to Orthanc.

Frodo leaned against Legolas, trying to seep in some of his warmth. The ring was heavy again and Legolas had tried to relieve the pain of the chain cutting into Frodo’s neck with some salve Aragorn made with athelas and soaked in linen.  It helped a little bit, but Frodo really could do without the stinging.

The forest cleared, showing them Orthanc.

Frodo had heard of the beautiful tower the Istari built. It seemed the land had completely been stripped away and destroyed. The Ents walked around, groaning at each other.

Treebeard greeted them.

“Young Master Gandalf,” he said.

Frodo dismounted, the water cooled his feet and caressed his shins as he waded out, looking at the destruction. What prompted the Ents to do _this_? He approached one and cleared his throat.

“Excuse me?”

The Ent looked down at him.

“Pardon me, but what exactly happened here?”

“A battle,” the Ent said. “I came to my field and the trees had been uprooted at the borders of the forest. So, naturally, I called on the others and we marched on Orthanc.”

Frodo bowed. “Thank you, my friend. May I know your name?”

“I am called Bregalad, but most know me as Quickbeam,” he said, returning the bow. “And you are…”

“Frodo Baggins.”

“The Hobbit Treebeard mentioned! It is an honor to meet you, Frodo Baggins.”

“The honor is mine.”

Frodo turned around, looking at the others, they were already speaking with Saruman. He bade Quickbeam good day, agreeing to visit the Ent again some time when time was available.

“You have fought many wars and battles, Théoden King,” a voice echoed from above. “And you have also made peace with your enemies. Can you not also make peace with me? Can we not work together as we once did, my lord king?”

Théoden lowered his eyes.“We shall have peace,” he said. Then he looked up, eyes blazing. “We shall have peace when you have answered for the burning of the Westfold and the children that lie dead there! We shall have peace when the lives of the soldiers bloodied as they lay dead at the gates of the hornburg are avenged! When you hang from the turrets for the sport of your own crows, we shall have peace!”

Saruman sneered down at them.

“And what of you, Greyhame? What do you desire? The key of Orthanc? Glory? Honor? Power? These things belong only to the high wizard!”

Gandalf glared up at him. “You’re treachery has already cost many lives. But you may stop this madness! You were deep in the enemy’s grasp. Now is the chance to redeem yourself.”

“So you have come here for information,” Saruman said. “Very well. I will give you some.” He held out his hand, holding a black orb. The center of it swirled until it was orange. “The Dark Lord is at work and presses his advantage against you in your failure to see. His time will come soon. You are all going to die. You must know this, Gandalf. Do you really think this _Ranger_ will ever take the throne of Gondor? Or the Halfling? Neither will live to see the throne. And the Halfling—does he know he will die? Does he know he goes to his doom?”

Legolas reached for an arrow, sneering. Gandalf held his hand out.

“No, Legolas,” he said. He looked up at Saruman again. “Come down, Saruman, and your life will be spared.”

“Leave your pity and your mercy! I have no use for it!”

A spiral of fire spat from the staff toward them and engulfed Gandalf. When the fire died, Gandalf stood unaffected and Saruman’s fury shifted to fear.

“Saruman,” Gandalf said. “You’re staff is broken.”

In that moment, the staff in Saruman’s hand shattered and Wormtongue stepped into their view, staring down at them. Théoden rode forth, meeting Wormtongue’s gaze.

“Grima, you need not follow him. You were once a Man of Rohan.”

“A _Man_ of _Rohan_?” Saruman sneered. “What is Rohan but a barn where brigands drink and the Men roll on the floor with the dogs? Victory at Helm’s Deep does not belong to _you_ , Théoden _Horse Master_!”

Théoden closed his eyes and sighed. He looked at Wormtongue again.

“Grima, come down. Free yourself.”

“Free?!” Saruman laughed. “He will never be free!”

“No,” he said. Saruman turned on him, slamming the back of his hand into Wormtongue’s cheek.

Frodo looked at Legolas. “You should probably ready your bow,” he said.

“Saruman!” Gandalf shouted. “You were deep in the enemy’s council. Tell us what you know!”

“Withdraw your guards and I will tell you where your doom will be decided—”

Wormtongue snuck behind him and embedded his dagger twice before Legolas let his bow fly into his heart. Saruman fell, impaled on a spiked wheel at the bottom of the tower.

Frodo’s blood ran cold.

He looked down, wondering what they would do now.

Gandalf turned to Théoden, telling him to send word to the seven kingdoms so to find out where Sauron would strike. The wheel groaned and the orb fell out of Saruman’s robes.

“The filth of Saruman is washing away,” Treebeard muttered.

Frodo waded over to the orb and picked it up.

“Frodo!” Aragorn said—

_“I see you.”_

Frodo screamed.

_“There is no escaping the void. There is only death!”_

_Fire licked against white stone._

_The screams of the dying echoed in his ears._

_Orcs plundered the city._

_The city was becoming ash and rubble._

_He climbed, searching for something…but what?_

_He reached the top and looked at a dead, white tree._

_He approached it and touched the bark. It sprouted leaves and flowers, beautiful and alive again._

_“I see you.” Frodo turned to the speaker._

_A man armored in black approached him._

_“I know who you are, Isildur. Frodo. Your name is of no importance to me. You have what is mine. I give thanks for returning it to me now while you yet live.”_

_His hands curled around Frodo’s neck—_

_Then nothing. No screaming. No burning. No tree. No Dark Lord._

_Just darkness._

“Frodo!”

He woke, blinking. Legolas sighed, pressing his forehead to his.

“What happened?”

“Frodo, look at me,” Gandalf demanded.

Frodo obeyed, stunned by the harsh command.

“What did you see?”

“Gondor,” he said. “I saw Gondor. He’s going to raze it to the ground.”

Boromir’s face turned grey.

“Did you speak to him?”

“No,” Frodo said. “But he spoke to me. He touched me,” his hand went to his neck. “Tried to kill me, but no. I said nothing. He already knew my name. He knows who I am.”

“Well, who else would you be?” Gimli said. “It’s not like you’re easily mistaken.” Frodo rubbed his neck and Legolas kissed his temple.

“I have to go back,” Boromir said. “My people—”

“You will go back, but not just yet,” Gandalf assured him. “Calm yourself Boromir. You have earned a short rest.”

“You speak of rest when my people are about to be destroyed!” Boromir shouted.

Gandalf frowned at him.

“You think I find _rest_ easy to come by? Every night I am away, my brother suffers at my father’s words. Every day is another day where Mordor can try to destroy my home! _I can’t afford to rest!_ ”

Frodo stood and waded over to him.

“Boromir, take the time. They’ve gotten this far without you. They aren’t going to fall while you’re gone. If that was the case, would you not have heard from them by now? You need this as much as the rest of us. One victory at a time. If you value Eowyn as much as I think you do, tell her how you feel before you return. Perhaps her presence would calm you a little bit before you go home.”

Boromir’s grey pallor didn’t change, but he nodded. His hands shook as he gripped the reins.

“What?” Eomer snapped, turning to them. His eyes flashed. “What do you mean _value_ my sister?”


	21. Chapter 21

Men laughed and drank. Voices lifted in bawdy songs bouncd off the walls. If Frodo looked (which he did), he’d find quite a number of his companions had been engaged in a drinking contest of some kind. Boromir was getting red faced as he tried to out drink Eomer (who still was not pleased with Boromir’s affections toward Eowyn. _That’s big brothers for you_ , Frodo guessed).

He drank a little bit, content to watch as both Elves and Men contested against each other. Many thought Elves couldn’t hold their alcohol, but that proved incorrect. Haldir, for instance, was having far too much fun with arm wrestling and his men were cheering him on.

“Come, Master Hobbit! A song!” One of the soldiers said.

“What?” Frodo asked as they lifted him onto a table.

“Just because you were raised by Dwarves doesn’t mean your uncle didn’t teach you a song or two!”

That was incorrect. Bilbo did sing to him when he was a child, but bawdy or drinking songs? Bilbo could be awkward when he liked, but he’d never been  _that_ awkward. He hadn’t been to the Shire in years either, and the last time nearly got both of them killed.

But there was _one_ song he could think of…if only…

_There he is!_

“Gimli!” he called. “Get up here!”

“What?”

“The Green Dragon song! Come! Join me!”

Gimli laughed and climbed on the table. They belted the song, kicking dishes out of their way and stomping their feet, tankards in their hands. At the end of the song, they chugged their ale and jumped down. Frodo patted his shoulder.

“Bet you can’t drink an Elf under the table,” he challenged.

“You’ll live to regret that, Lad.”

“We’ll see.”

“I’ll make you put your money where your mouth is,” Gimli said. “Legolas! Last one standing wins!”

Frodo laughed as Elves and Men surrounded them, placing their bets. Frodo slipped away, embracing the cool night air. He closed his eyes and inhaled, seeking out the peace he so desperately needed right now. The battle had been won, but there was more to come. He could feel it.

 _Perhaps I should continue on by myself_ , he thought. He didn’t want any harm to befall his companions and he feared what could happen if the followed him to Mordor. It’d be better if he continued on alone.

Wouldn’t it?

_You won’t win…_

“Yes I will,” he said. “By the grace of Eru Iluvatar I will succeed.”

“Who are you talking to?” Frodo turned to look at Legolas. He swayed a little bit on his feet and leaned against a pillar.

“Just to myself,” he reached for the Ring and lowered his hand again. “It weighs heavily on my mind. It seeks to make me doubt.”

“Do you?”

“Sometimes. Not about succeeding. Success is the only option I have. But surviving…I want to survive more than ever these days, but I feel it is folly to hope to live after this.”

“You will survive.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Of course I do. You see, if you don’t survive, I’ll follow you with the lone purpose of kicking your ass.”

Frodo chuckled. “Ghivashel, you’re drunk.”

Legolas hummed. “Maybe a little bit. Not as drunk as Gimli or Boromir are, of course, but just a little bit. Aragorn’s probably just as drunk as they are and you aren’t anywhere _close_ to drunk.”

“I’m afraid of what would happen if I _did_ get drunk. Who knows? I might lose the Ring.”

“That’d be bad,” Legolas said. “Especially with whatever’s following us.”

Frodo’s neck nearly snapped from the force of turning to look at him. “What? Something’s been following us?”

“Has been for a while now. I don’t know what it is. It reeks. Smells of a bog, maybe. Or the Misty Mountains. Maybe the Ring calls it.”

“That’s bad.”

“Well it’s not an Orc. I’ll take comfort in that.”

Frodo sighed. Whatever it was, he wouldn’t be able to face it alone. _Can’t go alone then_.

Legolas sat beside him. “What’s wrong, Melleth nîn?”

Frodo leaned against Legolas, eyes closed. “Nothing I’ve not told you before,” he said. “Could you just…please hold me for a little bit?”

Legolas’ arm wrapped around Frodo’s shoulders and his other hand took Frodo’s hand in his. “Frodo, I love you.”

“I love you too,” Frodo said. “I always loved you.”

Legolas kissed the top of his head. “Marry me.”

Frodo looked up. “Legolas we just…”

“I know. I don’t care.”

“You’re drunker than you think,” Frodo said.

“I’ll ask again when I’m sober,” Legolas said. “Would you believe me then?”

“Still too fast.”

“As optimistic as I like to be, I don’t want to take any chances. If I wasn’t drunk, would you say yes? Knowing we could die on this mission, would you throw propriety and tradition out the window and let us be bound together as husbands? Would you marry me?”

Frodo blinked and hid his face in Legolas’ tunic in hopes of hiding his blush. His heart screamed _yes, say yes._  “Ask me when you _are_ sober,” he said instead.

“I will ask in the morning, then,” Legolas said with a sigh. “But I will keep asking, drunk or sober, until you say yes, Frodo.”

“It’s a little difficult to take you seriously when you’re inebriated, âzyungel,” Frodo said, standing. He kissed Legolas softly. “Go to bed, Legolas. I’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, my love,” Legolas mumbled, kissing Frodo’s fingers, “May your dreams be sweet.”

Frodo smiled. “And may yours as well.” He stepped away from Legolas and went to his room, leaning against the door.

_If I wasn’t drunk, would you say yes?_

_Knowing we could die on this mission, would you throw propriety and tradition out the window and let us be bound together as husbands?_

_Would you marry me?_

Frodo slid to the ground. _Why did you have to ask me that now of all times?_ He thought. _This isn’t fair!_

#

“Boromir and I will go to Gondor. If it is necessary, we light the beacons,” Gandalf said. “If it comes to pass, Rohan must be ready to come.”

Théoden shook his head. “Why should we ride to the aid of those who did not come to ours?” he asked.

“We did not come because we had none to spare, my lord,” Boromir said. Théoden turned to him. “Our armies are constantly at battle with Mordor. We never get a moment of peace these days. I wish I could say I can apologize on behalf of my father, but I cannot.”

Théoden stared at him. “You have a noble heart, Boromir son of Denethor. My quarrel is only with your father. If I learned anything from knowing you it is that you are a better man.” Boromir tried to contain his smile as the pride swelled inside him. “So if your father does not take action, what will you do?”

“My brother and I will act against his wishes if necessary,” Boromir said. “It took a while, but I learned he was wrong and that doing what is right sometimes means having faith even when there seems to be no hope at all.”

Théoden nodded. “Then Rohan will answer if Gondor calls.”

Gandalf looked pleased.

“What of the others?” Boromir asked, turning to Frodo.

“We’ll figure it out,” Frodo said, “But we may need to take a new route. I told Sauron nothing, but he may have been able to get a glimpse of my plans if I got a glimpse of his. We’ve lost the element of surprise.” He looked around. “Does anyone have a map?”

Théoden sent for one to be brought. Once one was laid on the table, the Fellowship gathered around it. “We were going to take the route through Udun,” Aragorn said, pointing at it. “But that would not fare well if the enemy is aware.”

“What about here,” Frodo asked, ponting at Cirith Ungol. “Could we sneak in through there?”

“Possibly,” Aragorn said tentatively. “But it takes us too close to Minas Morgul for my liking.”

“We’re few enough in number,” Gimli said. “And we’ll be fewer when Gandalf and Boromir leave. We could do it if there’s a way in.”

“It’s also too close to Gondor,” Gandalf said. “Boromir, your father still desires the Ring, does he not?”

“Yes, but I promise, if this is the route you wish to take, I will clear the path for you.”

Gandalf shook his head. “I do not like taking that road. Foul things live in that cave. Recall what plagued Mirkwood a few years back? The mountain has the same monster.”

Legolas turned to him. “Spiders?”

“Just one. A great and terrible child of Ungoliant resides there.”

Frodo bit his lip. “Spiders fear Sting,” he said. “So I bear no fear toward spiders, no matter how big they are. Getting _inside_ is my biggest problem right now. So can we worry about the spider when we get to the spider?”

The reluctance didn’t make him feel any better about the new route. But where else could they get into Mordor? He doubted there were many passages into that land. No one tried to get into Mordor after all.

They broke for breakfast but Legolas escaped outside. Frodo followed him. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“Not particularly,” he said. “I don’t like this.”

“Well neither do I, but unless there’s a safer route into Mordor we might not have much choice. If I was confident that Sauron doesn’t know which road I intend to take then I’d not change anything.”

Legolas rubbed the back of his neck, mumbling to himself. Frodo watched him, unsure of what to do to ease him. Legolas turned to him and grabbed his hand, pulling him into a corner away from prying eyes.

“I don’t want to be bothered by the Men. You know how they can be.”

Frodo stared at him, quite confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Last night you told me to ask you again when I was sober,” Legolas said. Frodo blushed. “So I ask you again, melleth nîn: will you honor me by being my husband?”

Frodo bit his lip, staring at Legolas. He didn’t want to die, but he’d be a fool to assume he’d live after the quest. He swallowed. “Yes. Today. While Gandalf is still here. I get the feeling that Théoden is not likely to accept or understand…”

Legolas grins and presses a kiss to Frodo’s lips, lifting Frodo in his arms. Frodo tugged on Legolas’ hair, earning a moan from him.

 _Husband_. The word sent shivers down his spine. The kind he could grow used to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it’s gotten pretty fast (hasn’t even been ten chapters since they started courting and all…), but given the nature of the quest I figured common sense might get thrown out the window. *Ducks and hides*


	22. Chapter 22

Gandalf had a strange glint in his eye when Frodo and Legolas asked if he’d be willing to oversee the marriage. While for Elves, bedding one another was the only requirement, other races were more elaborate and required a little bit of ceremony among witnesses.

Gimli raced off to borrow a forge, offering to make the beads and rings that would be required for the ceremony, and asked Frodo to accompany him. “Rather quick, isn’t it?” Gimli said. “You just began courting.”

“I know,” Frodo said. “And I had not expected to marry so soon if it ever got there. We could die on this venture though, so I suppose if I am to ever call him my husband, it would have to be now before another battle comes.”

Gimli hummed and they bowed to the blacksmith who agreed to lend them a forge. “I suppose that makes sense even if there’s very little sense behind the two of you right now. Your uncle the king isn’t going to like you marrying an Elf.”

“And Thranduil won’t like him marrying a Hobbit,” Frodo said. “They can go suck lemons for all I care.”

Gimli heated the iron. “You never used to be _this_ spontaneous. Must be the adventure. You know Elves don’t have ceremonies, right?”

“Yes. I know. There will be one to honor my people, both Hobbits and Dwarves. It’ll be interesting, given the only flowers here are wildflowers. But I might be able to find something out there.”

“If not, you can weave wheatgrass into crowns,” Gimli suggested, pulling out the heated iron. “I’ll have rings and beads for you two. You’ll both have to content with iron until you can get back to Erebor for rings more suited for princes.”

Frodo grinned. “Thank you, Gimli. I know this is probably a bit much for you…”

“I’ll get used to it. My king’s consort is a Hobbit. Rules about interspecies relationships have lightened a bit since then. Since you’re not technically a Dwarf, the people can’t really complain about your choice. I might not like that he’s an Elf, but he’s a skilled warrior and a good man. And royalty. Ergo, you could’ve done worse.”

“How so?”

“You could’ve picked Haldir.”

“Haldir’s not that bad.”

“I don’t know him as well as Legolas,” Gimli said. “He’d have to work much harder to prove himself.”

Frodo laughed. “Well, I also could’ve chosen a Man, but…” Gimli glowered at him and Frodo escaped the forge. “Again, thank you, my friend. I’m going to look for flowers.”

Gimli didn’t respond, already shaping the rings. Frodo ventured outside to find the flowers with Aragorn beside him. The most abundant flower he could find were simbelmynë and _those_ would not do, but he managed to find white stalk daisies and cut a few stalks from those bushes. He also found some bronze starflowers, blue and purple delphiriths, and lavender crumpled bellflowers.Once certain he had enough, he and Aragorn returned.

“You’re rather quiet,” Frodo said.

Aragorn hummed. “A wedding in this dark time seems odd. That’s all.”

“You just miss your sister.”

“For the last time, we’re _not_ blood related!”

Frodo chuckled. “I know. It’s too fun to tease you.”

Aragorn grumbled. “Let’s just get you and Legolas ready for your wedding, all right?”

Frodo grinned and nodded, but despite Aragorn’s efforts to remain cheerful while he helped Frodo weave the flowers into crowns—and Boromir was given a stern talking to about manliness and teased relentlessly that real men wear flowers in their hair. Boromir was not amused and ended up helping them with little success until Eowyn offered to help him. It was quite entertaining to watch, Frodo thought, as Eowyn showed him how to split the stems and insert the next flower.

“What exactly would make such grand warriors make flower crowns?” Eowyn asked.

“Erm…” Boromir fidgeted  where he sat, staring at the flower chain in his hand.

“Frodo’s getting married later to today,” Aragorn said. “To Legolas.”

“That’s possible?!” Eowyn exclaimed, eyes wide as she peered at him. “You and an Elf-man?”

“Something wrong with that?” Frodo challenged.

“Of course not!” Eowyn said, beaming. “My brother favors men to women too, but since it’s not really accepted among our race…”

“Which is stupid,” Aragorn mumbled.

“Well, I agree with that,” Eowyn giggled. “Anyway, I’m glad to hear that other peoples have more sense. What about you, Lord Boromir?”

“I’ve always fancied women to men,” he said. “My people consider same-sex relationships as a form of abuse. It’s done, but we usually see the submissive partner as a victim and the dominant partner as the abuser.”

“That’s stupid,” Frodo said. “So to your people, my uncle Bilbo would be a victim of abuse? Don’t ask how I know _that_! There are memories I’d rather not have and that is one of them!” he shuddered. Thorin was smug for a long time after that.

“Well, I suppose so.”

“I assure you, same-sex relationships can be just as healthy as a relationship between a man and a woman,” Aragorn said. “And abuse can happen in heterosexual relationships as well.”

Boromir hummed. “That’s true.”

“Also, some partners switch,” Frodo said. “Like one will top and the other will bottom and then the next time it might be the other way around. Which doesn’t fit with the victim-abuser scenario, does it?”

“No,” Boromir agreed. “It doesn’t.”

“Well, for a homophobe, you’re quite tolerant.”

“Because my brother is _also_ like that, but has chosen solitude,” Boromir said. “I thought most do.”

“Hobbits are homophobic too,” Frodo said. “Many chose solitude or marry someone of the opposite sex for the sake of carrying on a family line anyway. Not because they assume the worst but because it’s considered an insult to the gift of fertility which Yavanna has given us.”

 “Elves believe that all love is equal and Dwarves do not have many women born to them,” Aragorn said. “Dwarves also believe that they have soul mates. Isn’t that right, Frodo?”

“Yes, Dwarves believe that Mahal, or Aulë created them and that some of them have soul mates, or Ones. For instance, Bilbo is considered the King’s One,” he said as he got up. “I’m going to go get ready. Eowyn if you’d like to come, you certainly may.”

Eowyn beamed. “I am curious. Perhaps I will. If not, I offer my congratulations to you and Legolas.”

Frodo beamed at her and bowed. “Thank you, my lady.” He strode out of the room and toward his own. A pitcher of water and a basin awaited him. He quickly washed his face and hands before taking out the various beads from his hair and feet and dragged a comb through it.

He regretted not being able to properly wash his hair, which would at least help with the tangles that had gotten in it. But he managed to loosen the knots and put the beads back in, leaving enough hair around his left ear for whatever braid Legolas decided to give him. He then worked on his feet, deciding to wash them anyway, scrubbing the hairs, tows, and soles with soap. Frodo weaved three braids, two on the sides and one in the center, from the knuckles of his toes to his ankle, weaving his beads into the locks. They were secured by an anklet bangle. He repeated the process with the next foot and was glad he had decided to bring more than one anklet. After that, it was a simple change of clothes. Nothing he had was truly appropriate for a wedding, but it would have to do. At least his extra clothes were clean. Once changed, Frodo swept his hair back and stared at the mirror. Apart from the loss of regular meals, he didn’t look as though he lost much weight. His bones weren’t protruding at least. Someone knocked on the door.

“Yes?”

“Everything’s ready,” Boromir called. “Are you?”

Frodo opened the door. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” he said, smiling. _Oh gods, I’m getting married_. Funny how it decided to hit him _now_ as he headed to wherever it was Gandalf chose to hold the ceremony. _My uncles are going to have a fit_ , was the thought that came after.  And it was true. Bilbo was going to be furious he wasn’t here to see it and Thorin would just be furious. He’d warm up in a bit though, once he got used to the idea of having Legolas for a nephew too. Frodo wasn’t going to wonder about Thranduil. He’d be just as angry as Thorin, but beyond that, he couldn’t really say. He didn’t care. They could have as many fits as they like. He was marrying his One. His smile grew. _My One._ At least he could gain some happiness from this cursed journey, even if it was short lived. Boromir opened a door and they walked in. Legolas still bore the braids Frodo had put in at the start of their courtship with a lock of hair loose around his left ear.

“About time you got here,” Gimli said. He handed an iron bead with the symbol of Durin’s folk and the rune Gandalf had carved into Bilbo’s door all those years ago etched into the line. There was also a ring smooth on the inside with grooved edges on the outside. It was too big for his fingers, but for Legolas it was perfect. Eowyn handed them the flower crowns, placing them on their heads.

Frodo’s hands shook and he balled them into fists by his side, digging his nails into the skin on his palms as they walked toward the table Gandalf had procured. The table was covered in a white cloth with a length of rope, a jug of wine and a goblet, and two small candles lit on either side of a large unlit candle. As for Gandalf himself, he stood behind the table, leaning on his staff.

“Legolas, Frodo, please kneel.”

They did so.

Gandalf spread his hands. “Welcome all to this hand fasting ceremony and I invite you all to bear witness to the union of Legolas Thranduilion and Frodo Baggins. In dark times as these, one wonders what hope could come, but here, we witness hope burning bright and alive even with the darkest of days to come. Frodo, Legolas, please rise.”

They stood.

Gandalf poured the wine into the goblet. “In drinking the wine, you sanction that your marriage will bear fruit and will touch the lives of others.”

He handed the cup to Legolas, who drank before handing it to Frodo, who returned it to Gandalf. Gandalf then motioned to the candles.

“In lighting a Unity Candle, you vow to work together as one rather than two separate entities, thus securing your marriage and recognizing each other as your other half.”

He picked the candle up and held it out so that Frodo could reach it. It was almost humiliating how different their height was, but once lit, Gandalf put it back.

“Now is the time to exchange your rings and the beads. If you have something to say to your partner, now would be the time. Legolas, if you please.”

Legolas knelt and began braiding Frodo’s hair. “I had not known I would grow to love you so much when we first met. You were an energetic child and I regret not being able to watch you grow into the man you’ve become, but I do not regret falling in love with you.” He bound the braid. “And I am glad you have given me the chance to prove it to you, even though sometimes I wonder if I really deserve you.” He slid the ring onto Frodo’s finger. “But I do cherish you with all my heart. I love you, Frodo.”

Frodo swallowed, his throat tight, and reached for Legolas’ hair. “I didn’t think I had ever stopped loving you from the moment we met. You were always beautiful to me. If a Hobbit could have a One, then you are mine and I cannot imagine ever loving someone else as deeply as I love you, Legolas.” He slid the bead in place. You took me by surprise when you asked me to marry you, but I can’t imagine being with anyone else and this is probably the first time I’ve ever been so brash,” he slid the ring on Legolas’ finger. “But it’s exhilarating and I can’t be happier as I feel now.”

Hands still clasped together, Gandalf wrapped the rope around their wrists. “I bless this union by the power of the Valar. In the name of Iluvatar, I wed you.”

Legolas pulled Frodo into a kiss. Frodo grinned against Legolas’ mouth and the rope fell to the ground. He wrapped his arms around Legolas’ neck. For all his nerves earlier, the shaking in his hands the realization that he was getting married…it was done. He was married and he felt like air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stalk daisies are based on asters meaning contentment, starflowers are based on a type of chrysanthemum and the bronze color means excitement, delphiriths are based on delphiniums meaning boldness, and crumpled bellflowers are based on lisianthus flower which means calming. 
> 
> And toward the end of the ceremony, Anywhere by Evanescence played on my Pandora. :’3
> 
> We’re not quite done with the wedding. Eowyn kinda pulled some strings to get some food made and there’s still the consummation. I’ll try to have that up later today.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Features smut. Enjoy/You have been warned.

Frodo stared at the food laid out on the table in one of the lesser halls, mouth watering. He didn’t expect Eowyn to do this and felt incredibly blessed by the amount of food presented. There was lamb roasting on the spit a plate of bread rolls, jugs of wine, and leafy salad.

“It’s not much,” she said, “but it wouldn’t be right not having a feast after a wedding ceremony. Of course, I told my uncle I wished to bid you farewell before you left Edoras.”

“It’s wonderful!” Frodo exclaimed, grinning.

“All food is wonderful to Hobbits,” Boromir said.

“For that, I’m taking your portion,” Frodo said, smirking at Boromir, who then glowered at him and sent him a rude sign involving a finger. The others, except Gandalf, laughed. Gandalf muttered something about the lack of maturity.

As it was, no one had to worry about not getting their portion. Frodo wasn’t about to deny anyone food nor was Boromir willing to risk it. Once the food had been consumed, Frodo and Legolas were told to go ahead onward to bed, lewd smirks sent their way by Gimli and Aragorn which Boromir pointedly ignored, offering Eowyn more wine which she took.

 _Perhaps something will come of their relationship after all_ , Frodo thought happily as he followed Legolas down to the bedroom—which one they’d go to, he wasn't sure but he hoped for it would be Legolas’. Bigger bed. More room.

Frodo watched Legolas. His imagination ran rampant. Would Legolas be opposed to Frodo taking control? Or would he lay down for him, wanton and begging…

His cock warmed as arousal overtook him. Legolas stopped outside his room and paused. “Would you rather go to your room?” he asked.

Frodo shook his head. “My bed’s too small,” he said.

Legolas opened the door and they entered. The room has not changed much. The bed still stood at the center and backed into a wall. On a table by the side of the bed was a vial of oil. Frodo applauded Legolas’ foresight and picked it up. It was half empty and Frodo arched a brow at Legolas. There was also a basin of water and a towel on the table.

“I’m not a total saint, Melleth,” Legolas said, blushing.

“I never said you were,” Frodo said as images of Legolas lying on the bed and pumping his cock, head thrown back against the pillows and panting tantalized his imagination. “Have you taken a lover before?” he asked. Legolas turned to him, frowning.

“No,” he said. “Had I done so, I’d not have married you.”

“Oh? That’s right: intercourse actually does seal a marriage for your people,” Frodo said. Legolas sat on the bed and tugged his boots off.

“Yes. That is not the case with other people, I know. I suppose Hobbits are different?”

“You’re correct. As are Dwarves.”

Legolas looked up at him. “So you…”

“There are a few coming of age ceremonies Dwarves participate in,” Frodo said. “Usually your first time is with an adult you know and trust, willing to show you the ropes. Sometimes marriage comes out of it, but often not. Hobbits also have coming of age ceremonies, but they are less…”

“Sexual?”

“Yes.”

“So you’ve had lovers before?” Legolas said with a touch of jealousy in his voice.

“Yes,” Frodo said. “I wasn’t exactly waiting for you and for the most part, I was quite angry with you. So why would I have waited? Let’s not talk of it,” Frodo said.

“Who?”

Frodo let the tunic fall. “Why does it matter? It’s in the past.”

“It matters.”

Frodo blinked. “I married you, âzyungel,” he reminded Legolas. “And the likelihood I’d have been a virgin if I grown up in the Shire is just as rare.” He approached Legolas and touched his knee. “I am here with you now. That is all that matters, is it not? What is the point of being jealous of someone I hold no romantic interest in? Our relationship was strictly student-teacher.”

“That sounds worse.”

“The only thing that would make it bad is if I was underage.”

Legolas gripped the sheets. “I want to know who and when?”

“Why? It didn’t last—”

“Because I recall Thorin son of Dain being _quite_ interested in you!” Legolas snapped. Frodo pulled himself up onto Legolas’ leg and straddled his thigh.

“Look at me,” Frodo said, cupping Legolas’ face. “It was Ori and these lessons only last a week. They are only meant to teach new adults about sex and pleasure. Theory comes first once your sex drive begins as teenagers, or tweens, and you’re encouraged to wait until adulthood to lose your virginity, but allowed to touch others and have relationships so long as they are also underage and it is consensual. When you reach adulthood, your family’s closest single friends will offer to teach you about the actual practice but in the end, you chose your teacher yourself. I chose Ori because I trusted him the most. Ori has been my teacher for a long time and he has always been fair. This was no different. Besides, Thorin is too closely related to my uncle the King. He wouldn't be able to offer himself even if he wanted to.”

He kissed Legolas’ cheek. “I sometimes like it when you’re jealous, but right now it only proves to be a distraction to what I would like to spend tonight doing. I would ravage you, my darling. If you are all right with that?” He stared at Legolas and hoped that he’d be open to it.

Legolas nodded and Frodo grinned. “Undress,” Frodo commanded, sitting back on Legolas’ leg and untying the strings of his tunic. He pulled it off and left it on the floor. Legolas paused in taking off his jerkin and stared at Frodo’s chest.

“The Ring,” Legolas said. “I don’t want to see it.” Frodo could understand that.

“Have you a drawer I can put it in?” he asked.

“There’s a box on the desk,” Legolas got up and grabbed it. He opened it and Frodo discarded the Ring and chain inside it. Legolas put it in a drawer beside the bed.

“Better?” Frodo asked, pulling the Mithril shirt off.

“Yes.”

“Then, really, Legolas, I want you naked and on your back,” Frodo said, pushing his pants down, and off, leaving only his small clothes.

Legolas pulled his jerkin off, letting it fall to the floor. Frodo sat down and watched, rubbing his still clothed cock as he watched Legolas strip down. From the blush on Legolas’ face, Frodo could guess that his husband was acutely aware of his gaze. Legolas was as beautiful as any Elf could be. His shoulders were broad, his frame lithe and defined. His limbs long. From his navel was a soft trail of bronze hair that led down to a nest of curls where a proud, long cock awaited.

Frodo licked his lips and his mouth went dry. When the time allowed and there were days he could spend in bed with Legolas, he would take that cock inside him and indulge on the fullness of it. Legolas came back to bed and laid on his back as Frodo had demanded.

Frodo climbed on top of him and straddled Legolas’ waist. He pressed his hands against Legolas’ stomach, leaned down and kissed him, nipping at Legolas’ lower lip between his teeth and slid his hands up to Legolas’ shoulders.

Legolas gripped Frodo’s hips as Frodo nipped at Legolas’ neck and sucked bruises into the skin. He moved down Legolas’ chest, licking and biting the smooth torso. He lathed attention to Legolas’ nipples, licking, sucking, biting…

Legolas’ breathing grew more labored and he arched his back, digging his nails into Frodo’s skin. Frodo moved to the other nipple and lifted his eyes to watch Legolas’ Adam’s apple bob, felt the rise and fall of Legolas’ chest, and smirked at the gasp that escaped his throat at a hard nip at the pink nub.

Frodo moved down Legolas’ chest to his stomach. He kissed above the navel and squeezed the skin of Legolas’ hips. Legolas’ breathing eased and Frodo climbed off him and stroked Legolas’ leg as he re-positioned himself between the long limbs.

He kissed the tip of Legolas’ swelling cock and licked it. Frodo cupped Legolas’ bollocks, rolling them in his hand and squeezing gently. His other hand gripped the base of Legolas’ cock and he swallowed the tip. He hummed and Legolas gasped, gripping the sheets and his legs spread.

Frodo pressed his tongue against the slit, lapping up the precum spilling out. He sucked and Legolas’ hips bucked. Frodo moaned and Legolas’ hips thrust up again. Frodo pulled away.

“Pull your legs up, ghivashel,” he said, reaching for the towel and wetting it.

Legolas obeyed, hooking his arms under his knees.

“Good,” he purred, squeezing excess water out of the cloth before running it over his lover’s hole.

Frodo put the towel back and grabbed the vial. He poured some on his hands, fixed the stopper back on and rubbed his hands together to spread the oil over his fingers. He circled a finger around the rim, watching it clench and continued to tease the taut skin until Legolas relaxed, his muscles slacked.

Frodo pushed the finger inside and twisted it around. He knelt down and kissed Legolas’ bullocks, wondering if he could get his Elf to let out more than a quiet moan or laborious breathing.

Frodo worked in a second finger and gently bit down. Legolas gasped and his legs quivered. Frodo sucked and added a third finger. He stretched Legolas’ hole, steadily preparing him for Frodo’s cock, neglected and eager.

Frodo wanted to touch himself, but reminded himself to wait, to take his time and turn his husband into a mess. He pushed in his pinky and thumb, stretching Legolas as wide as he could without hurting him.

He pulled away from Legolas’ stones and licked his lips. Frodo removed his fingers and grabbed the vial, pouring oil into his hand and coating his cock with it. He pushed inside and Legolas moaned, toes curling. Frodo rolled his hips, slow, steady, and controlled.

Legolas released his legs and his arms fell to either side of his head as he whispered Frodo’s name. Frodo picked up his pace, watching Legolas come undone. Frodo felt heat build in his belly like a coiled spring.

He ran a finger over Legolas cock from tip to root, groaning when Legolas clenched around him and came with a choked scream, ribbons of cum splattered his chest and stomach.

Frodo gripped Legolas’ thighs, ramming into him as his on climax built. Frodo’s cock pulsed and his sight glazed over. He pulled out, shivering and reached for the towel again, wiping Legolas clean before tossing it toward the bathroom and crawled closer to Legolas.

Legolas’ breathing slowed to deep huffs, eyes closed. Frodo positioned himself in the crook of Legolas’ arm, laying his head on his husband’s chest.

 _I should be more afraid than I feel_ , Frodo thought, feeling Legolas’ rapid heartbeat. He closed his eyes and drifted to sleep.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry this is late! It's been a rather rough week. The job I had gotten ended up being terrible for someone of my disposition, so I had to quit and I've got a very bad cold. TT.TT It's been a bad week...anyway, here's a chapter with some smut.

Frodo woke to a golden light streaming into the room. It clung to Legolas’ hair and made it shine like sunlight. It even set on his eye lashes, making them look like dusty white-gold. Frodo tucked a lock of hair behind Legolas’ ear.

It felt strange, waking with another person beside him, who wore his braid and ring. Frodo knelt down and kissed Legolas. He pulled back when Legolas stretched, opening an eye.

“Good morning,” he mumbled.

“Good morning,” Frodo returned, kissing his forehead. “I’m sorry for waking you. That was not my intent.” Legolas hummed, hiding his face in the pillow. “I don’t think I’ll be able to be as adept at burglary as Bilbo was. Can’t even steal a kiss.”

Legolas laughed tiredly. “Well, I do not mind being woken by my husband trying to steal a kiss,” he said, sitting up. “It’s not a bad way to wake up.”

Frodo grinned. _Husband…_

He placed his hands on Legolas’ shoulders and kissed him again. Legolas answered, turning to lie on his back. Frodo kissed Legolas’ neck, delighting in the shudder Legolas emitted when their cocks rubbed together. His fingers stroked Frodo’s skin from shoulders to waist and up again.

Frodo ground down on Legolas’ hips, pulling out a breathy moan. Frodo’s mouth watered and he licked his lips. He dove under the covers and slid down between Legolas’ legs.

He gripped the base of Legolas’ cock and stroked until a bead of precum squeezed out of the slit. Frodo licked the bead off, pleased by the gasp that hissed from Legolas’ lips. He suckled at the tip and stroked the length slowly with both hands. Legolas whimpered and his shaking legs parted.

Frodo hummed, sliding down to fit a little more of Legolas’ cock in his mouth. It filled pleasantly, heavy on his tongue and salty. He bobbed his head and sucked. Legolas gripped his hair. His body shook under Frodo’s ministrations. Frodo hummed again and cupped Legolas’ testicles, rolling them in his hand.

“Oh… _Valar—_ ”

Legolas’ back arched, thrusting his cock down Frodo’s throat. Tears welled in Frodo’s eyes as Legolas came. Legolas pulled out and Frodo coughed, rubbing his throat.

“Frodo?!”

“M’fine,” Frodo rasped. Legolas pulled the covers back and winced.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t—”

Frodo waved him off. “M’not mad,” he said. “It was unexpected, is all. Deep throating is not _really_ something I enjoy…”

“It wasn’t intentional,” Legolas said, massaging his forehead as a bright blush tinged his cheeks. Frodo stood on his knees and kissed him.

“I’m really all right and I’m not mad at you, _men mizimel_ ,” he purred, nipping the shell of Legolas’ ear. Legolas gasped and Frodo grinned, glad to find that Elven ears were just as sensitive as Hobbit ears. “Lie on your belly for me, _âzyungel_ …”

Legolas had just begun to turn over when a harsh, rapid knocking pounded at the door.

“Frodo? Legolas? It’s time to get up! We need to leave today!” Gimli bellowed.

 _I’m going to skin myself a Dwarf,_ Frodo thought, grinding his teeth. Legolas glanced at him, eyes trailing down Frodo’s body. His gaze paused at Frodo’s erection. He twisted around and kissed Frodo before diving down and took Frodo in his own mouth.

Frodo carded his fingers through Legolas’ hair. He wished they could have more time, wished they could thoroughly please each other and learn each other’s bodies and discover their kinks. Frodo gasped at a particularly hard suck. His arms shook and his chest heaved. Frodo’s fingernails scratched Legolas’ scalp—

Frodo bit his hand to muffle the scream. His vision blurred and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. He lied down, trying to keep his hips from bucking into Legolas’ mouth. Finally, he began to fall from his peak and Legolas release him, staring at Frodo.

“Was—”

“Yes,” Frodo said. “It was good for something so quick.”

Legolas kissed him. Frodo tasted a lingering flavor of bitterness on his lover’s lips.

“When time allows?”

Frodo nodded, kissing him again. Legolas broke away, getting out of bed. He limped a little bit, but otherwise Frodo doubted anyone would notice unless they were looking. He lay back on the pillows, sighing.

 _When time allows_ , he thought. Tears stung his eyes. _Will it ever?_

#

The sun set over the Fenmarch, darkening the land with night. Owls hooted from the trees and the leaves rustled in the gentle wind. It was here that the Fellowship set up camp after they left Edoras. The Merring Stream rushed toward the Firien Wood. Boromir squatted above the ground, using a stick to draw their path in the dirt.

“I would take you to Minas Tirith if I thought my father could be trusted,” Boromir said, “However, I can take you as far as Osgiliath, but from there, I must part ways with the Fellowship.”

“That is fair,” Frodo said. “It’s further than I thought you would go with us.”

“My brother will be there and I would rather see that he is all right before going to my father—”

 “You smell that?” Gimli asked, sniffing the air. “Smells like a bog.” The others paused. Frodo wrinkled his nose as a vile stench, a mix of dirty laundry water and sulfur.

Legolas turned to them. “Something is coming,” he said.

 “Everyone but Frodo into the trees,” Gandalf said. “Whoever is coming might be after the Ring.”

Frodo glared at him. He didn’t like being used as bait. An arched brow told him he didn’t have much of a choice, so he knelt by the fire and wrapped his cloak around himself. He pulled Sting out of its sheath and felt assured that what followed them was not an Orc or a Goblin. He sheathed the blade again and waited, head bowed and hand still holding Sting.

“The thief,” a voice gurgled. “Filthy little thief. It stole it from us, yes…”

Frodo tightened his grip on Sting’s hilt, remembering one of Bilbo’s more frightening tales. A hand curled around his shoulder and Frodo acted. He grabbed the creature’s wrist and threw it over his shoulder to the ground. Sting held at his throat. The others circled them, forcing Gollum onto his stomach and tied his hands behind his back.

Not once did Gollum stop screaming, loud even though the makeshift gag Aragorn made with his cloak. They tied him to a tree.

“So this is the infamous Gollum,” Gimli said. Boromir averted his gaze. Frodo couldn’t blame him. He always wondered why Bilbo spared Gollum. Now he knew. Bilbo was never a warrior and never claimed to be, but he would only take a life if it was deserved.

He wouldn’t have been able to kill Gollum.

“Now what?” Boromir asked. “We can’t let him go running around.”

“I say we give him death," Gimli said. "He’s lived long enough, has he not? At this point, it’d be a mercy.”

“No,” Frodo said. Gimli and Boromir looked at him. “No,” he repeated. “We cannot kill him.”

“Frodo, you’ve always been a good lad,” Gimli said. “But he has lived far longer than he should, am I right?” He looked at Gandalf, who nodded. “His life is in our hands now, so let us end it swiftly and may his soul, or whatever is left of it, be at peace.”

“There is very little in him that is good left,” Legolas added. “It was not a mercy to spare him.”

“And killing him is?” Aragorn asked. “We captured him without causing too much injury to ourselves and to him. To kill him now would be murder, not defense. Certainly not merciful…”

“And letting him live is?” Boromir challenged.

“It is not our choice to make,” Frodo said. “I used to think the same as you, Boromir: why in the name of all that is good did Bilbo let him live? But the fact remains. Gollum lives and he has come for the Ring. I see your point. I do. But I cannot allow this.” He turned to Gollum. “Now that I see him, I do pity him.”

“And we _will_ let him live,” Gandalf said. The others looked at him. “I have always felt that Gollum may eventually have a part to play. He will come with us—” A screech cut through the night. Gollum screamed tugging on the ropes. “Untie him!” Gandalf shouted. “Hide!”

“What was that?” Boromir asked.

“Wraiths,” Legolas answered, holding Frodo close to him.

“What?”

“The Nazgûl,” Aragorn clarified. “They hunted us before.”

“I thought we managed to kill them,” Gimli said.

“Dead?” Gollum coughed, tugging the gag off. “No. They do not die. No, Precious.”

Gandalf hummed. “He’s right. What is dead cannot be killed again by the hands of a man. Now be quiet! All of you!”

A winged creature flew overhead.

 _Put me on_. He reached for the Ring, clawing at it under his tunic. _Put me on. Disappear. Save yourself._

Legolas wrapped his arms around Frodo and pulled him to his chest. The desire to vanish lifted and Frodo felt tension evaporate. He leaned back into Legolas’ torso and closed his eyes.

“If they cannot die, what do we do about them?” Gimli asked.

“Avoid them,” Aragorn said. “Or set them on fire again. In the meantime,” he turned to Gollum, restrained by Boromir. “What do we do with him?”

“We can’t let him loose.”

“Then we’ll have to take him with us,” Gimli said. “Legolas, hand over your rope.” Gollum screamed, hissing at Legolas, and tried to back away from him.

“He’s already tied up,” Legolas said. “So there’s really no reason for us to use my length of rope.”

“Aye, _Elf_ , that is true, but Elven rope has a fine ability to not come lose save at the will of the one who ties it,” Gimli said. “I don’t want him getting loose and strangling Frodo in his sleep—”

“Gimli,” Frodo snapped, “Enough.” Gimli rolled his eyes. Frodo turned to Gandalf and Boromir. “Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and I will continue on. Will the two of you be willing to meet us at Osgiliath instead? Bringing Gollum with us is bound to slow us down.”

Gandalf and Boromir exchanged looks. Gandalf nodded.

“Keep safe,” he said.

Boromir handed the rope to Aragorn and followed Gandalf to their steeds. They mounted the horses and raced off into the night.


	25. Chapter 25

_“Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and I will continue on. Will the two of you be willing to meet us at Osgiliath instead? Bringing Gollum with us is bound to slow us down.”_

_Gandalf and Boromir exchanged looks. Gandalf nodded._

_“Keep safe,” he said._

_Boromir handed the rope to Aragorn and followed Gandalf to their steeds. They mounted the horses and raced off into the night._

Once they disappeared into the darkness, Frodo turned to Gimli.

“May I speak with you for a moment _alone_ ,” he said. Gimli followed him a short distance away from the camp.

“I know you are having difficulties accepting that I married him, but I hoped you’d at least keep your tongue in check,” Frodo snapped. Gimli blinked. “If you think I did not notice the way you said _elf_ —”

“It has been a tiring journey,” Gimli said. “I will apologize to him when we are less hostile. It is not Legolas I have problems with. That creature does not soothe me. I do not think it is wise to keep Gollum about. He’s treacherous, Frodo. He might’ve been smart enough to guard the Ring for so long, but look at him now. That’s not something born of good.”

“He was good once, likely.”

“ _Once_ , yes, perhaps, but not anymore,” Gimli said, crossing his arms. “Until we are rid of him for good, I will be sleeping with one eye open.”

Frodo nodded. “Very well. We’ll do what we must, but we are not ‘getting rid’ of Gollum just yet. I trust Gandalf in this. He may have a part to play yet.” They walked back to Aragorn and Legolas. “If he causes us trouble, we’ll leave him with Boromir when we get to Osgiliath before we reach Cirith Ungol.”

“The Stairs?”

Gimli and Frodo turn to Gollum. He tilted his head to the side. “Bagginses wants to take the stairs?”

“Yes. We are taking ‘the stairs.’ Unless you know a better way into Mordor, keep quiet.”

“Let’s head out,” Aragorn said. “Before the Nazgûl turn back around.” Gimli took the rope, pushing Gollum forward.

“There is a faster way to the stairs. Through marshes and bogs—”

“We will not be taking that path,” Aragorn said.

“I’d keep my tongue locked behind my teeth if I were you,” Gimli snarled. Gollum hissed at him, displaying all nine of his teeth but dared not aggravate him further. Gimli tied the rope to Aragorn’s horse before mounting behind Aragorn. Legolas put Frodo up behind him and they went at a slow enough pace for Gollum to keep up on foot. Frodo glanced behind him at him, feeling another stab of pity for him.

#

They set camp for at the end of the seventh day along a river bank. The horses drank from the water and Aragorn built a fire while Frodo set up his and Legolas’ bed rolls. Gimli kept watch over Gollum and Legolas had gone to fish. He returned with a basket full.

“Here,” Legolas said, tossing one of the fish recently caught to Gollum.

“It’s dead,” Gollum complained.

“But still uncooked, so don’t complain,” Gimli snapped. “Feel lucky you’re getting fed regularly.” Gollum blew a raspberry at him before sinking his teeth into it and Gimli groaned, hiding his face in his hands.

“Stop goading him,” Legolas said as Aragorn built a fire. “You’re just making it more difficult for everyone.” Frodo rubbed his neck. The chain cut into his skin. Legolas turned to him. “Are you all right?”

“Not really. The Ring’s getting heavier.”

“How heavy is heavier?” Aragorn asked.

“Enough to dig into my skin.”

Aragorn left the fire and pulled Frodo’s tunic down. “Frodo, this is bad.”

“I _know_. Any ideas?”

“Put it in your pocket?” Gimli suggested.

“I don’t want _him_ acting up,” Frodo said, nodding toward Gollum, who was gnawing between the bones.

“He already knows you have it,” Gimli reminded him. “He’s not going anywhere. Also, he’d lose his hands before he touched it.”

Aragorn ran a hand through his hair. “Tie it to your belt and put it in a pocket, wrap it up tightly. You’re neck won’t heal if you leave it on.”

Frodo sighed. “If I do that…”

“We’ll be all right.”

“That’s not good enough for me,” he said. “It’s getting more desperate, so I need everyone to keep back.” Aragorn sighed and nodded.

“All right,” he said. “Everyone into the clearing.” Gimli stood and pulled Gollum along despite Gollum’s protests at being tugged and almost losing his food. Aragorn followed them. Legolas didn’t move.

“You too, _âzyungel_ ,” Frodo said. Legolas stood and kissed him.

“Call when you’re done.”

“Of course I will,” he said, returning the kiss. Legolas walked away, heading into the forest.

Once they were gone, Frodo took a deep breath and lifted the chain off his neck. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped the ring in it before it could find its way into his mind and speak to him. He looped the chain through his belt and stuffed the ring in his pocket.

He released the breath, relaxing. “Legolas! Aragorn! Gim—”

A sword swung at him through the corner of his eye and he jumped back, unsheathing Sting. The Uruk Hai bellowed and more of them slipped into the clearing.

“The Halfling!” One shouted.

“Hand over the Ring, Scum!” Another ordered.

Frodo glared at them, positioning himself in a fighting stance and holding Sting up. An arrow whizzed by, embedding in an Orc’s skull. Gimli and Aragorn jumped through the trees and the fight began. Frodo ran Sting through the stomach of one and jumped aside to block another who is slain by Gimli.

“Gollum got away!”

“ _How_?!”

“He’s been working on the blasted rope! I told you Elven rope would’ve held him better!”

Gimli turned around and embedded his ax into the ribs of an Orc while Frodo slit the tendons of another and stabbed Sting into his throat. Neither of them saw the largest of the Orcs coming behind them. Frodo spun around in time to avoid being stabbed in the heart, but his arm was cut just below the mithril.

“Frodo!” Gimli shouted, pushing the Orc back. A dagger slit through the Orc’s neck and pulled out. He fell and Legolas caught Frodo.

“Poison again?” Frodo asked, trying to joke, but it was already taking effect.

Legolas lifted him up and raced for the horses, Aragorn and Gimli kept fighting. Frodo nuzzled against Legolas’ neck.

“Seems getting injured is my lot in life. Should’ve trained harder,” Frodo muttered. Legolas put him on the horse and climbed behind him.

“You’ll be all right.”

“Las—”

“ _You will be all right_ ,” he hissed.

Frodo closed his eyes and leaned against him. For how long they road, Frodo didn’t know. Breathing was getting hard and his limbs weighed him down. Near midnight, Legolas dismounted and pulled Frodo down, wrapping him in blankets. He built a fire and cleaned the wound as best he could. Both knew there was very little Legolas could do. He was not a healer. Not like Aragorn or Tauriel was.

In the end, Legolas lay behind Frodo and held him close, kissing his cheek.

“Las…”

Legolas shushed him. “Don’t speak. Just relax,” he held him close. “I don’t want goodbyes, _melleth nîn_ ,” he whispered against Frodo’s neck.

Frodo closed his eyes and bit his lip, trying not to weep. “I love you,” he whispered.

Legolas kissed his neck. “I know, _guren_ ,” he said. “I love you, too.” Frodo rested one of his hands on Legolas’, curling his fingers between his. “If only I took to the healing arts, this wouldn’t be happening!” Frodo wished he had something to say, but his tongue was thick on the roof of his mouth. Every part of him was numbing…

Branches snapped and Legolas pulled out a dagger, hovering protectively over Frodo. Frodo opened his eyes to see Dwarves ( _Dwarves?_ he thought, _No, they're taller, but at the same time...are they? What manner of creature are they?_ ) clad in leather and fur, hair wild and unkempt approaching them. They were stocky and their brows were wide. They snapped at each other in a language Frodo did not recognize. It wasn’t Westron or any other language he knew.

One of the Dwarves approached.

“Need help?” he asked in heavily accented Westron. He pointed at Frodo. “Sick? We help. We friends.”

Frodo coughed, gasping for air. Legolas stood and lifted him. One of the men grabbed their horse, leading them deeper into the forest until they came into a clearing. Huts lined the walls and the villagers looked out, staring at them.

The Dwarves who found them were shouting _Mehandi_ as loud as they could until a woman stepped out. She was dressed in the same skins and wore a hood with antlers on them. She looked at Frodo and Legolas.

“Follow me,” she said, leading them into a tent and grabbed herbs. “Lay him on the table.”

“Who are you?” Legolas asked.

“Do you want him to die?” she retorted.

Frodo left Legolas’ arms and was set on the table, lying on his back. The blankets were peeled away and the cold air was almost a relief until it was too much. She set the plants down and seized a mortar and pestle. She barked orders and a Dwarf picked up a cup.

Legolas stepped between them. “What are—”

“It’s water,” she snapped crushing the herbs and plants into a past. “Now either get out or be quiet.”

“He needs Athelas.”

The woman sneered at him. “I know what I’m doing, Elf. You are either desperate or too trusting.” She scooped a bit of the paste onto her fingers and spread it onto the wound. “From your behavior, I’m guessing desperate.”

The paste was cool and Frodo gasped when it started to sting. She hushed him, stroking his forehead. “Sleep, Little Warrior, and fight. You will survive.” She began to hum a song, casting images in his head of a brightly lit forest, and clear streams…

Soon, Frodo was asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~Sindarin~
> 
> Guren=my heart


	26. Chapter 26

_It is hopeless…_

They were up against impossible odds.

Orcs were not as organized as the Men and Elves were, but their numbers greatly outnumbered the army of the light.

_Perhaps hope is simply a small spark…_

Despite impossible odds, they turned the tide.

_It needs only to ignite…_

And then he arrived, and the tide turned again in their favor.

Elendil the King stepped forward. He was no match for the Dark Lord.

His son raced to his side.

“Father? Father!”

_There was no time to mourn…_

Isildur grabbed Narsil.

Sauron stepped on the blade, snapping it to pieces. He reached for Isildur and in that moment, in blindness, Isildur swung the blade and sliced Sauron’s fingers off.

_The spark ignited once…_

The blast did not kill any but the Dark Lord, though it seemed powerful enough to do so. A glint of gold caught Isildur’s eye and he picked it up, staring at the band of gold.

The markings etched on the ring faded.

“Isildur, hurry!” Elrond shouted. “Come with me.

He followed.

_It was not meant to last…_

“Cast it into the fire!”

Isildur stared at the Ring. It could sing. And it had such a beautiful voice.

Why destroy something so precious?

“Destroy it!”

Isildur looked at Elrond. “No.”

He turned and walked away.

“ISILDUR!!!”

_But neither did it die…_

#

Frodo’s eyes snapped open and he gasped for air. His limbs were shaking and his head pounded. In one moment he felt dreadfully uncomfortable, like he was lying too close to a furnace. Then the next moment it felt like he’d been placed outside in winter to fend for himself.

A hot hand pressed to his cheek. “Frodo, you’re all right.”

“What happened?”

“You were poisoned again,” Legolas said, “And you have a bad fever now.”

“No,” Frodo said. “No I can’t be sick again. We have to keep going.”

Legolas pinned him down. “Not while you sick. You need to rest.”

“I can’t—”

“Frodo, you will rest if I have to tie you to the bed to keep you here!” Legolas snapped. “I will not risk setting back your recovery by letting you overexert yourself! Please, _melleth_ , get better first.”

Frodo calmed. “Can I have something to drink then?”

Legolas kissed his forehead. “I’ll be right back,” he said, leaving the bed.

Frodo relaxed, patting is pockets and sighed with renewed relief when he found the Ring.  

Legolas returned with a cup and Frodo tried to sit up.

“Where are we?” Frodo asked, taking the water in both hands. “What happened since I passed out?”

“We were found by the Drúedain,” Legolas said, sitting beside them. “Their healer, a woman named Mehandi, drove the poison out of your system. We have been here for two days and Drúedain have yet to find Aragorn or Gimli though I have asked them to keep an eye out for them.”

“And Gollum?”

Legolas frowned. “Gollum fled when the Orcs attacked. They’re also searching for him.” Frodo handed the cup back and massaged his head.

“This is ill news,” he said. “I doubt he’ll stay hidden for long. He’ll return so long as I have the Ring, but I do not like to think what mischief he’ll cause when we’re not watching him.”

“We’ll find him, Frodo.”

“I know, _ghivashel_.” Frodo lied back down. “How much longer will we be here?”

“For as long as it takes for you to get better,” Legolas said. He kissed Frodo’s brow. “Sleep, _melleth_. I’ll wake you when there’s something to eat.”

Frodo nodded, closing his eyes.

He could still see the fire of the Mountain burning.

#

Once well enough to walk, Frodo left the tent.

Stares followed him wherever he went and he did his best to ignore them, but a few even dared to approach and touch his feet. Most of them were children, which he could forgive, but when they started trying to get at his hairs, Frodo grew annoyed.

“They are curious,” a woman said, stilling his hand before he could pull Sting out. “And they think the hairs on your feet symbolize good fortune.”

“You’re Westron is impressive,” Frodo said. “You must be the healer my husband spoke of, then. Any chance you could tell them to stop?”

She barked at the children, who squealed and ran off laughing.

Frodo massaged the back of his head. “Thank you.”

“It’s not pleasant when you’re hair’s being yanked out of your head. I’ve no idea how painful that would be if it was your feet,” she said. “I am Mehandi, the Shaman Woman and Chief of this village.” She bowed and Frodo returned it.

“Frodo Baggins, Nephew of Bilbo Baggins, Consort of Erebor.”

“I know that land. It is Dwarf-territory, but you are no Dwarf, even if you dress like one. Nor is your husband a Dwarf. He is clearly an Elf inside and out.”

“My native people are Hobbits, we hail from the north and west. But I grew up in Erebor. As for my husband, I do not care for his heritage as much as Dwarves would. It’s been a stressful journey on the both of us. Thanks to you, I’ve cheated death a second time.”

“And why do you need to cheat death at all?” Mehandi asked. “Why does it hunt you?”

Frodo frowned. He wasn’t sure how much the Drúedain would know about Sauron. If he brought the Ring out, would they be able to resist? Mehandi narrowed her eyes at him.

“You are unsure whether you can trust me?”

“I am grateful to you, but yes, I am cautious. My husband is one of a few companions I have on a rather important quest. The nature of which, as you have guessed, is quite dangerous. I do not know who I can trust outside them and even then I do not trust them completely.”

“Not even your lover?”

Frodo stared at the ring on his hand. “I trust him more, I suppose. But even then, I do not know. Once my task is over, I might have an easier time trusting others again. But until then I am trapped in my own doubt.” He looked at Mehandi. “It isn’t a matter of whether or not I can trust him. In the end, I don’t know who will fall or who will betray me. I can only hope that he won’t.”

“The Elf does not trust as easily as you,” Mehandi assured him. “He is not one for betrayal.”

Frodo smiled. “Thank you.”

“You leave in the morning. Whatever your quest is, I give you the blessing of our gods,” Mehandi said. “May good fortune follow you.”

Frodo bowed again. “Thank you,” he repeated.

But good or bad, Frodo felt the worst was yet to come.

#

“Don’t get me wrong,” Frodo said. “I like lembas bread well enough, but there’s so much of it!” Legolas snorted. “I was starting to get sick of all that bread.” He tore into the meat. It was very dry and very salty but it was better than nothing.

“Suit yourself,” Legolas said, leaning against a tree. “I’ll be glad when all this is over, lembas bread or no lembas bread.” Frodo rolled his eyes, taking a drink from the waterskin.

Branches cracked behind him. Frodo tensed, lowering the bottle and curled his fingers around Sting’s hilt. Legolas notched an arrow to his bow.“Hobbits is still alive?” Gollum asked, stepping into the clearing.

“Where have you been?” Frodo snapped.

“Hiding,” he said. “What else would we be doing when orcses come?”

Legolas closed his eyes, lowering his weapon.

< _I don’t trust him_ ,> Legolas said, voice echoing in Frodo’s head. Frodo looked at him. < _He could turn on us at any moment._ >

< _While I agree,_ > Frodo thought, < _we have no reason to doubt his integrity yet. For now, I’d opt for sleeping with one eye open._ >

< _Fair enough,_ > Legolas answered, setting the bow down. < _But if he tries anything—tries to hurt you in any way—I’ll put an arrow in his neck._ >

Frodo glanced at Gollum, who had curled up by the fire, rubbing his hands together. Frodo sighed. < _Quite the romantic, you are. But I understand. Only if he betrays us, though. I don’t want to explain to Gandalf why you killed him merely because you do not trust him. I don’t either._ >

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, realized that the Men I had find Legolas and Frodo resembled Dwarves more than Men and quickly fixed that in the last chapter. The Drúedain are like Men but appearance wise almost resemble Dwarves. They are also called the Woodwoses. My apologies. *bows out*


	27. Chapter 27

Gollum crawled ahead of them. Legolas kept a tight grip on Arod’s reigns, guiding the horse forward with Frodo on his back. “We’re near Amon Din,” Legolas said. “We should be able to make it to the beacon by nightfall.” He turned to Frodo. “Unless you’re insistent to keep going and make up for lost time.”

“No,” Frodo said. “Even if I don’t want to rest, Gollum will have to as will you.” Legolas halted Arod and climbed up behind Frodo, who leaned back until he was pressed against Legolas’ torso. Legolas urged the horse onward. “How far are we to Gondor?”

“About two days at this pace. If we rushed, we could get there by morning.”

Frodo closed his eyes. “I love you.”

Legolas kissed the top of Frodo’s head. “I love you too, _melleth_.” Frodo closed his eyes, soaking in the warmth of the sun and from Legolas.

#

He ran, but it seemed like he was never going to get where he wanted. Not in this darkness. Not with the hand stretching toward him, aiming to grab him—

Frodo woke up, chilled from sweat and shivering.

“On your feet.”

He blinked. The fire still crackled and the glow reflected on the sword pointed under his chin. Frodo stood, glancing up at the Man. His cloak was green and the White Tree of Gondor was stitched into the fabric.

“Is it evening or morning?" Frodo asked. "Either way, it is certainly still night. Tell me, are the rangers of the south so cold hearted that they would wake weary travelers with their blades under their throats like robbers?”

“What manner of creature are you?” The Man asked, ignoring the rebuke.

“I am a Hobbit,” Frodo said. “The Elf I am with, where is he?”

“I’m here,” Legolas said. Frodo glanced at him. His bow and quiver had been confiscated as well as his twin daggers. Arod was trying to tug out of a third ranger’s grasp. Gollum was nowhere to be found.

“You and the Wood Elf hail from the north?”

“Yes.”

“Your names, _Hobbit_.”

“I am Frodo, prince of Erebor through my uncle the King’s Consort,” he answered. He glanced at Legolas again, wondering if he should introduce Legolas as his husband or not. He ground his teeth. He didn’t like the idea of lying about his relationship with Legolas. So he wouldn’t. “I travel with my husband, Legolas son of Thranduil, Prince of Mirkwood.”

He ignored the flash of disgust in the Man’s eyes. “Take them to Osgiliath,” The ranger ordered. “Tell the captains that we’ve captured something interesting. For now, they are not to be harmed.” Frodo’s hands were bound and a sack was shoved over his head.

#

There was no way to tell how much time had passed. Frodo kept silent, praying the Ring would not be discovered. It tugged painfully around his neck, and the wound where the chain cut into his skin itched with the sweat mingling behind it. There were times he wondered, _was it really sweat_?

The bag was yanked off his head and he blinked, adjusting to the light of the dank cave. A Man knelt in front of him. His light brown hair fell in wavy curls. He was fair of face and had a little stubble. He was dressed in the leather armor of Rangers. His gaze was dark and untrusting. “My men tell me you are travelers from the north. Why would an Elf and a…malformed Dwarf?”

“ _Hobbit_ ,” Frodo and Legolas spat.

“Hobbit,” he corrected, only arching a brow at the outburst. “Travel together? They also mentioned that you said you were married.”

“Your men would have also told you our names,” Legolas said.

“Is Captain Boromir here?” Frodo asked. “If he is, then send for him. He will vouch our story."

“You know Boromir?” the Man asked.

“He was one of our companions,” Legolas said. “He rode ahead with Gandalf. The rest of our companions are somewhere behind. We do not know where they are.”

“Faramir, have you begun? I came as soon as I—Frodo?” Boromir stepped toward them. “Legolas? Where are the others? Actually don’t tell me yet. Unbind them! You are in the presence of a King of Gondor!”

Frodo sighed. “Not a king…” he muttered, but once his hands were unbound he stood.

“Boromir, who are they?” Faramir asked. Boromir whispered in his ear and squeezed his shoulder. Legolas and Frodo were led to a table spread with food.

“Had I known that the so called spies were you, I would have come sooner,” Boromir said. “But as neither of you seem harmed, I suppose we’re all right?”

“Could’ve been worse,” Legolas agreed. “Speaking of, what did they do with my horse?”

“Stables,” Boromir said. “What of Aragorn and Gimli? Why are they not with you?” Frodo recapped what happened since they left. The ambush, his being poisoned again, the Drúedain, Gollum’s return and second disappearance when they were captured. “We’ll find him,” Boromir said, tearing at a bread roll. “Though I do not like the idea of that creature in my camp.”

“What about you?” Frodo asked. “How have things been for you since we last saw each other?”

Boromir sighed and pinched his nose. “Not good. Our father is furious at me for not giving him the ring. He will not welcome you or Aragorn as King. Neither will the light the beacons and call for Rohan’s aid. Gandalf is with our father now, trying to make him see reason. As it is, I am the acting as steward. My father is unaware of my taking action—”

“You mean he’s unaware you’ve staged a coup,” Faramir corrected, taking a drink of wine.

“It’s the wiser option,” Boromir said, glaring at his brother. “Gandalf will come when he can,” he told Frodo. “But for now, take the time to rest easy. You did not know you trespassed near sacred ground so the crime will be pardoned.” They thanked him and were led to a spare tent.

“How goes the battle for Osgiliath?” Legolas asked. Faramir and Boromir glared at him. “That bad?”

“We’re terribly outnumbered,” Faramir said. “It’s only a matter of time before its overrun. In the meantime, we’ll continue to fight.”

“On whose orders?” Frodo asked. “Your father’s?”

“Our father would rather we die to the last man before surrendering the city,” Boromir said. “For now, its calm, but we will have to retreat eventually. I’ve already sent home our men who have families. There is no honor in them losing their lives for a lost cause as this. At the same time, I loathe to abandon the city just yet.”

Legolas sighed. “I feel your pain. My father is the same way.”

“And he’s an Elf,” Boromir mumbled. “I pity you.”

“Could be worse,” Frodo said. “You could have had to deal with Thorin.”

“Thorin’s not that bad!” Legolas said.

“Ask Bilbo,” Frodo corrected, smiling. “Thorin used to be terrible.” Legolas snorted into his cup.

#

The spring was too cool for Frodo’s liking, but it would do for now. He dried his hair while he waited for Legolas to finish his own bath and eyed the many beads he’d have to put in. Frodo decided to wait morning to put them back in. He’d just have to get up a little earlier than usual if they wanted to leave tomorrow. Legolas came back, torso exposed and a towel around his shoulders as he dried his hair. Frodo liked his lips.

After this, they would have to move on to Mordor. The very thought made him feel cold, frightened, and unsure. He knew he might die on the quest. He used to accept it as a fact, a way of paying the penance of his crime of not destroying the ring the first time. But lately, Frodo saw it as a burden. He didn’t want to die. Not now that he had something to live for.

“We could leave later in the day,” Frodo said. Legolas glanced at him. “Or leave the next.”

“Why?”

Frodo bit his tongue in thought. “After this we go to Mordor and I want to make love to you at least once more before we go…if you are willing.”

Legolas arched a brow. “If I am _willing_?” he scoffed. Legolas leaned over Frodo. “Frodo, I’m always willing. You need only tell me you want me.”

Frodo grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down into a kiss. Legolas picked him up and set him on the bed climbing over Frodo and slid a hand under Frodo’s tunic. Fingers bumped the ring and they groaned. Frodo sat up.

“Lie on your back and take these,” he nudged Legolas’ legs, “Off.”

Legolas moved to obey as Frodo jumped off the bed and stripped out of his clothes, wrapping the ring in his shirt and his shirt was wrapped in his trousers. He grabbed his vial of oil and  returned to Legolas’ side. He nudged Legolas’ legs apart and settled between his knees, kissing the right inner thigh, nipping at the soft flesh and sucking a bruise into the leg.

He opened his eyes and watched the peace wash over Legolas. Frodo moved away from the leg and placed his hands on either side of Legolas’ head, pressing a soft, coaxing kiss to Legolas’ lips. Legolas ran his fingers through Frodo’s hair, the slender appendages curling around the black tresses.

Frodo moved his lips to the slender throat and rubbed his hands over Legolas’ shoulders and torso. He teased the nipples, pinching them and massaging them until they were peaked and hard. He took a bud in his mouth and sucked. His nails scratched gently over Legolas’ ribs and midsection as he lathed his lover with attention.

Legolas’ fingers tightened in Frodo’s hair. Frodo nibbled on the bud and smirked at the hiss Legolas sucked in. He moved to the other bud and continued to tease Legolas with his hands, daring to move them down to his hips. Legolas rolled his hips up against Frodo’s groin. Frodo shuddered at the friction and licked the bud before kissing the center of Legolas’ chest and moved away.

“Roll over,” he said.

Legolas obeyed, head pillowed by his forearms and legs spread apart. Frodo repositioned himself between them and gripped Legolas’ arse. He massaged the cheeks until they were pliant beneath his hand and pushed them apart.

Frodo licked his lips and kissed one firm globe, dragging his teeth along the skin. Legolas gasped and Frodo soothed the mark with his tongue before kissing Legolas’ hole, dragging his tongue along the skin. He could hear the breathy whispers of his name roll off Legolas’ tongue. Frodo pushed his tongue inside. He could feel Legolas struggling to not squeeze around him and he gave his arse a firm squeeze.

Legolas groaned and Frodo pulled out. He grabbed the oil and poured the liquid over his hand before circling the spit slicked entrance with one finger. “Frodo, _melleth_ , please…”

Frodo pushed the finger inside and kissed the small of Legolas’ back as his beloved pushed back on the appendage, begging for more which Frodo was only too happy to give, carefully stretching Legolas open for him before pulling his fingers away. He coated oil over his cock, root to tip, gently tugging his length as he did so. Frodo pressed the tip of his cock against Legolas’ hole teasingly.

“Frodo, stop this torture and fuck me,” Legolas growled.

“I might tease you more, then,” Frodo said, smiling.

“Don’t you dare!”

Frodo chuckled and pushed into him, his moans mingling with Legolas’. He rolled his hips, pulling out till his head remained and then back in till he was fully sheathed, dragging out Legolas’ tantalizing sighs and delicious whimpers. He stroked Legolas’ shaking thighs and hips before circling his hands around Legolas’ waist and stroked his long cock and bollocks in time with his thrusts.

Legolas bit the sheets to keep his voice muffled as his climax built, hole fluttering around Frodo’s cock. Frodo hastened his pace. Legolas shook beneath him and Frodo gasped when he squeezed around his length when he reached completion, drenching the sheets beneath them.

Frodo gripped Legolas’ hips and bucked wildly till his own orgasm passed. Frodo waited to come down before pulling out. Legolas whined as Frodo disconnected their bodies. “We should go take another bath,” Frodo said.

“Later,” Legolas purred, wrapping his arms around Frodo. Frodo nuzzled against him, kissing as much of Legolas as he could before sleep took them both.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another sex scene is here. If you'd rather skip it, it's from the first # to the second #

Frodo woke to a hand on his shoulder, sitting up. A hand clamped around his mouth.

“Apologies,” Faramir whispered. “You need to come with me. I’ll be outside.”

He released Frodo and left the tent. Frodo lied back down and glared at the canopy above him.

 _Why can’t it wait till morning?_ He thought before getting up. He kissed Legolas’ shoulder and promised to return soon. He dressed and tucked the ring into his tunic and met Faramir at the tent entrance.

“What is it?”

Faramir led him to a waterfall. It shone silver and black in the moonlight. In the center was a rock. A figure broke the water surface, gurgling a song and slapping a fish against the rock.

“Any who enter the forbidden pool are put to death at sight.”

“Even when they are ignorant?” Frodo asked. “I know that creature. He most likely saw a pool with something to eat from. He would not know it was forbidden. Neither would I have known. Think on that _next_ time. Let me go down to him. He is not to be harmed.”

“Very well,” Faramir said.

Frodo slipped past him and climbed down. “Gollum,” he called. Gollum turned to him. “We have to go.”

“Now?” Gollum asked, glaring at him.

“Yes, now. There are Men here waiting to kill you if you don’t get out of the water immediately. You can take the fish with us.”

Gollum looked around, searching for the Men Frodo mentioned. Frodo guessed he saw one of the Rangers as Gollum shrieked and raced back over to Frodo, diving behind him and clenching the fish in his mouth as they stepped out.

“Let him eat, then bind his hands but he is _not to be harmed_ ,” Frodo ordered. He looked at Faramir. “If that is all…”

Faramir bowed, extending a hand. “After you, Master Hobbit.”

Gollum kept close to Frodo, eyeing the Men warily.

They led Gollum elsewhere after more assurances that he’d not be harmed, despite the glances in most eyes suggesting that killing Gollum would be more merciful than letting him live.

Frodo returned to the tent he and Legolas shared.

“What was that about?” Legolas murmured, pulling Frodo into his arms once Frodo returned to the bed. “Why do you smell like fish?”

“Gollum’s back,” Frodo said.

“Ugh,” Legolas groaned, releasing him and turning his back to Frodo.

“What?”

“Stinks.”

Frodo laughed. “Sorry.”

“I’m just glad my sense of smell is duller than my hearing and eyesight.”

#

Legolas tossed him another bar of soap. Frodo caught it.

“Unless we are almost _out_ of soap, I doubt we need more.”

“I don’t, but you really reeked when you came back!”

“It wasn’t that bad!”

Legolas arched a brow at him.

Frodo groaned. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll scrub one more time, but after that, I _really_ do need to get my hair in order.”

“You don’t _need_ that many braids. Nor do you really need to braid your feet. Besides,” Legolas swam closer and ran his fingers through the hair on Frodo’s feet. “I like it better without the braids,” he whispered, pecking Frodo’s lips and moving his fingers from the foot to Frodo’s leg.

Frodo blushed as Legolas pulled the leg out from under the water and placed a kiss against his ankle. “You do realize that my feet get dirty rather easily.”

“As do Elven feet, when we can spare shoes,” Legolas reminded him. “But prefer to have them when traveling over rougher terrain. Our feet are not as travel hardened as a Hobbit’s.” He placed another kiss against the instep.

Frodo’s breath hitched and his cock warmed. “I’m quite sure we don’t have that much time,” he said.

“We’ll make time,” Legolas said, moving away from the foot.

He pushed Frodo’s legs apart and lifted him out of the water, settling between them. He placed another kiss against Frodo’s lips before moving down to his throat, licking drops of water from his flesh.

Frodo bit his lip to keep from moaning, digging his hands into the earth beneath him.  Legolas sucked on one of Frodo’s nipples and rubbed circles with his thumbs into the soft flesh of Frodo’s thighs.

He moved lower, lapping at the water trailing down Frodo’s skin. Frodo gasped when Legolas curled his fingers around the base of Frodo’s cock and pressed the tip of his tongue to the slit.

Legolas glanced up, eyes shining with mirth and wrapped his lips around the head. Frodo hissed and clawed the earth as Legolas sucked.

Legolas moved his hand to Frodo’s sack and gently squeezed them. Frodo breathed through his nose, chest heaving with each breath, afraid that a telling moan would escape him and bring unwanted viewers to them.

Legolas swallowed more of him down, pressing his nose against the nest of hair surrounding Frodo’s cock. He hummed and Frodo thrust into Legolas’ mouth, gasping.

Legolas’ muffled moan sent shivers down his spine. Frodo closed his eyes and lied on his back, toes curling.Legolas dragged his teeth gently up Frodo’s cock and suckled the head again. Frodo shuddered as cool air caressed his heated cock.

Frodo groaned, feeling his climax build like a coiled spring. Legolas squeezed his sack again and gently rubbed the skin behind it. Frodo gasped and spilled into Legolas’ mouth.

Legolas stroked Frodo’s perineum with the pad of his middle finger until he was spent.

“You did that on purpose,” Frodo accused halfheartedly as Legolas backed away from him, smirking.

“You liked it, though,” Legolas said, pulling Frodo back into the water and onto his lap.

Frodo kissed him. “Perhaps,” he said. He wrapped his hand around Legolas’ cock. “You’re turn, _ghivashel_.” He gripped the back of Legolas’ neck, licking the seam of his mouth, and dragged his hand from base to head.

#

“What took you so long?” Boromir asked when they finally arrived to breakfast. Gollum was chewing on a chicken carcass, a rope around his neck and tied to a peg. A guard stood close to him, eyes closed and face pale. “Well?” Boromir asked. Legolas averted his eyes and Frodo blushed. Boromir pinched the bridge of his nose. “Really? Wouldn’t that be a little risky?”

“It was Legolas’ fault,” Frodo said, “And we were careful.” Legolas slapped the back of his head. Frodo grinned at him and massaged the back of his head. “I love you.” Legolas ignored him and sat down. Frodo sighed. “It was worth a shot.”

Boromir sighed, hiding his face in his hands. “You’ll at least be more careful in Mordor, will you?”

“Of course,” Legolas said, tearing a bread roll. “Shouldn’t be hard to avoid.” Frodo sat beside him and kissed his cheek. “Keep trying,” Legolas muttered. “You might succeed or dig you grave a little deeper.”

“What did I do?”

“I think you shouldn’t have said it was your husband’s fault you were late,” Boromir said.

Frodo nodded. “Probably not,” he agreed, grabbing a couple bacon strips.

“My brother will lead you over the river. From there, you’re on your own again, but I’ve written you a letter of introduction to our forces in Ithilien if you cross their paths. But once you’re out of Gondor’s borders, there is very little we can do to help.”

“Perhaps you could watch my horse?” Legolas asked. “I don’t think that Mordor will suit him.”

“You wish to continue on foot?” Frodo asked.

“It would be for the best,” Legolas said with sigh. “Arod would stick out.” Frodo nodded and kissed his hand. Legolas was rather fond of that horse.

“We’ll take care of him for you.”

They thanked him and headed to gather their things. They met with Faramir by the river. They were handed new supplies and an extra waterskines were given to them. The rope around Gollum’s neck was retied around his hands. Boromir embraced them.

“I wish you all the luck in the world,” he said. “You both better survive or I’ll never forgive you.”

“No promises,” Frodo said, “But we’ll try. They entered the boat with a small group of rangers, Faramir included, and sailed across. Once on the other side, Faramir handed them an envelope.

“My brother asked me to give this to you,” he said, handing it to Frodo, “May the gods be with you both.” Legolas bowed his head and they left. Once on the shore and the Rangers left, Gollum blew a raspberry at them.

“Not very nice.”

“They fed you, didn’t they?” Legolas snapped. “They were nicer than we thought they’d thought.”

“Yeah…I told them to be,” Frodo admitted.

“Really?”

“For now, we kind of need him.”

“I still don’t trust him.”

“You don’t have to, _âzyung_ ,” Frodo said. He scanned the terrain and shuddered. “How much further are we to Mordor?”

“About a day or two at most,” Legolas said. “And then another three or four before we reach the foot of the mountain.” Frodo swallowed. A flash of fire blinded him and he gasped. The chain cut into his neck. It stung and weighed him down.

 _It knows_ , Frodo thought. _It knows we’re close._

“Frodo?”

He looked at Legolas. “It’s heavier,” he admitted. “It’s always getting heavier.” Legolas took his hand and gave it a firm squeeze.

“Lean on me if you have to,” he said, kissing Frodo’s hand. "That is what I’m here for.” Frodo smiled.

Gollum stuck his tongue out at them. “So slow,” he growled. “Always so slow.” Legolas pushed him forward and Gondor gradually faded behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was not intending to throw in another sex scene so soon…not sure if I should be sorry or not but I decided to go with it anyway.


	29. Chapter 29

The cold darkness seeped through the warmth of their clothes and while certainly warmer than it would be in the north—in the back of his mind, Frodo wondered if the first snowfall of the year had come yet—he wished he had the foresight to bring some furs.

They hid behind a rock, staring up at the black castle that reached for the sky. Nine wings jutted outward from the great tower spiraling upward to the heavens. Standing before the gates of Minas Morgul were two three-headed stone vultures with red eyes.

“The stairs,” Gollum said, pointing with his eyes at the steep ledge. Frodo looked at them, tearing his gaze away from the watchers and lifted his eyes upward. The stairs were narrow and dark. Legolas untied Gollum before he pulled his cloak over his head and shivered. Frodo wasn’t sure if it was from fear or the cold or something else.

_Come…_

Frodo turned back to the watchers. Their voices were so calming, so comforting, so soft…Like Bilbo’s voice.

_Come to us…come to us, all who are weary…you shall find peace…_

“Frodo?” Legolas took his hand. “What are you doing?”

“I must go…” He pulled his hand out and approached the gates. Legolas jumped out and wrapped his arms around Frodo’s middle, easily scooping him up and diving behind the rock again just as a beam of green light burst from the center of the castle and spiraled upward. Frodo watched it, biting his lip.

A Nazgûl on his winged beast and dressed in armor perched on top of one of the wings and screeched. They covered their ears, trying to block out the screaming. Frodo’s wound stung, reminding him of the pain of being stabbed with a poison blade. The pain in his chest outweighed the pain to his ears and he clutched at the scar, gasping.

Then it stopped. The screeching. The pain. It stopped and the gates opened. An army of Orcs marched out and Gollum tugged on their cloaks. “We must climb,” he urged, already marching up the stairs as though it was a ladder instead. Frodo followed with Legolas behind him.

#

They managed to find a sturdy ledge to rest on for a while after what felt like hours of climbing. Frodo huddled close to Legolas, trying to share warmth with him. They shared a small dinner and drank sparingly.

“Do you think we’ll survive?” Frodo asked, pulling his knees up. “It’s just, the more I think about it, the more I feel like I’ve been handpicked to go to my death—”

“We will survive.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t, but do you really want to deal with Bilbo in the afterlife? Or Thorin?”

“But I cannot fail, even if it means going to my death. It’s not an option. Thorin always said—”

“I doubt he told you to succeed at any cost,” Legolas said. “I sincerely doubt he told you to throw yourself into the fire if it ensures that you’ll succeed. Besides,” Legolas kissed Frodo’s cheek.  “I won’t let you throw yourself in. I’ll be cross if you do. You aren’t alone, _Melleth_.”

Frodo turned to look at him. “It’s always getting stronger,” he said. “Always stronger and always heavier. It wants me to put it on. It’s like a bad itch I’m not allowed to scratch. What if I give in and put it on? What if—”

Legolas pressed a finger to his mouth. “That will not happen,” he said, lowering his hand. “I promise you it won’t. Frodo you may have his soul, but you are _not_ Isildur. You are stronger than he ever was and you trained your whole life for this very quest. You’ll succeed and you’ll survive. To add, you aren’t alone. I’m with you. I love you. The Ring can only control your mind. It has no sway over your heart.”

Frodo swallowed and rested his head against Legolas’ chest. “I love you too,” he whispered before falling asleep.

#

“What are you doing?!” Legolas shouted. Frodo woke. He was wrapped in Legolas’ cloak and propped up on his elbows. Legolas held Gollum by his neck.

“Legolas let him go!” Frodo shouted. He turned to Frodo and an image flitted through his mind of Gollum grabbing their food supply, opening the bag, and throwing the contents over the side. Frodo stood and checked the bag. The food was still there, thank Mahal. He turned to Gollum. “I defended you,” he sneered. Gollum stopped twisting around in Legolas’ grip. “I pleaded for your life and _still_ you decide to betray us?”

“The precious made us!” Gollum wept. “It made us do it!”

“The _Ring_ may be powerful, but it is not _that_ powerful,” Legolas growled.

Frodo unsheathed Sting. “We had been very merciful, Gollum. But betrayal will _not_ be tolerated.”

Gollum twisted around and bit Legolas, who cried out in shock and Gollum raced down the stairs. Frodo waited until Gollum could not be seen to put Sting away. He approached Legolas, who rolled up his sleeve. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. I was more shocked than hurt,” he said. “He bit my vambrace. I’m fine.”

Frodo took Legolas’ arm, making sure he was really fine. “I’m sorry.”

“Neither of us knew he would betray us.”

“You suspected it, though.”

“We all did,” Legolas said. “It was just a matter of when. Mind gone or not, he’s smart.”

“At least you caught him,” Frodo said, fixing the sleeve and kissing Legolas’ wrist. “I should have trusted you more.”

“Nothing for it now,” Legolas said, putting the vambrace back on. “Now what do we do? Continue up the stairs?”

“Unless you know another way into Mordor, I will continue on. We decided on this route long before Gollum came, anyway.” Frodo swallowed. “Last chance to—”

“Not on your life,” Legolas growled, glaring at him. “We’re in this together and I will not let you go into the abyss alone.” Frodo frowned. He’d rather Legolas be safe than risk himself—“I’m coming with you,” Legolas said, cutting Frodo’s thoughts off. “Way you carry on sometimes, I fear it might be the only way to make sure you _do_ get out of this ordeal alive.”

“Nothing will sway you?”

“Nothing. I’m not so easy to get rid of, _melleth_.”

Frodo smiled. “Then let’s eat and move onward,” he said. “Legolas, I’m glad you’re here.”

#

They stand at the top of the stairs and peered into the cave. Legolas leaned against the wall. “This is the spider’s lair?”

“I think so,” Frodo said. “You have more experience with spiders than I do.”

“That doesn’t mean I like going near them. Spiders are nasty. Especially Ungoliant’s progeny. Mirkwood’s never been the same since they came.”

“I thought you got rid of them.”

“We did. That doesn’t mean I like it.”

“No, I suppose not,” Frodo said. He offered as reassuring a smile to Legolas as he could. “Shall we go in?” he asked. Legolas waved his hand and Frodo stepped in, unsheathing Sting as he did. The sword did not glow, which was a small comfort.

A sharp gasp made Frodo turn around. “Legolas?”

“I’m fine,” Legolas responded. “Just a bit…the air is close. There is death here. It shouldn’t rattle me like this, but…”

“We’ll get out of here as soon as we can,” Frodo promised. “Just hold on a little while.” He reached for his pocket, fingering the vial Galadriel had given him. “Would it be easier with light?”

“Yes, I think so.” Frodo whispered in Elfish and the vial glowed, spreading light around the dark cavern. It reflected off the webbing. Legolas groaned.

“I hate spiders.”

Frodo turned to him, smirking. “I am not killing this spider on my own.”

“I know,” Legolas said with a sigh. “But I don’t have to like it. Step carefully.” They treaded lightly over the webbing. Frodo tried not to cringe at how it and the remains of whomever and whatever the spider caught felt under his feet. The feel of them made shivers crawl up his spine and his stomach roil. Legolas grabbed his shoulder and Frodo turned around.

“What is it?”

“Something’s following us,” he said, reaching for one of his daggers. Frodo turned the light toward what was behind them. He saw the glint of black, beady eyes and a giant spider stepped toward them, screeching. They ran. Legolas tried to turn, pulling Frodo with him, but Frodo tripped and fell from Legolas’ grip. The vial flew from his hand and the light died. The spider jumped between them.

The spider screeched in pain and Frodo noticed an arrow pierced in its side. “Legolas!” he screamed.

“Run!” Legolas shouted, loosing another arrow. “Frodo, run! I’ll follow!” Frodo grit his teeth and scurried to his feet, racing out of the cave and tumbling down. He grunted, falling to the ground and panting. As he gathered his wits, Frodo cursed himself for leaving Legolas behind. He got back to his feet and approached the cave’s mouth again.

Hands grabbed him and threw him to the ground. “Clever Hobbits,” Gollum growled, pouncing on Frodo and trying to grab the Ring.  Frodo grabbed the “Still lives it does, Precious. Not this time! Not _this_ time!” Frodo shoved him off and thrust Sting toward Gollum’s gut. He jumped back, hissing. Frodo was backed against a ledge and he glance down. He couldn’t see the bottom. Gollum lunged and Frodo jumped out of the way. Gollum fell, clawing at the rocks and screaming as he fell. Frodo approached the cave again.

“Legolas!” he shouted. He winced at the echo. “Stupid!” he hissed. He checked Sting. If Orcs heard him, they weren’t anywhere close.

Frodo entered the cave again. “Legolas?” he called. “ _Ghivashel_?” Something came closer. “Legolas?” A stinger jabbed into Frodo’s stomach and he gasped. Sting fell from his hand. His limbs hurt and they grew heavy. His vision swam.

Then all was black.


	30. Chapter 30

He opened his eyes, staring at the stone above him. For a moment, Frodo believed he was back in Erebor. Had it all been a dream? If so, it was a good dream. He had married Legolas, had forgiven him. He closed his eyes, willing himself to go back to sleep.

“Frodo?” A warm hand pressed against his cheek and he looked at Legolas.

“Am I still dreaming?”

“No. Frodo, where do you think you are?”

“Erebor?”

Legolas shook his head and Frodo sat up. He looked around. They were in a small cave. He could see the sky and a flash of lightning lit the heavens.

“You were stabbed by the spider,” Legolas said. “I managed to slay it. Thankfully, the monster seemed to like playing with its food. You were paralyzed, so I carried you here before we could be found by Orcs. I stopped here and set you down to wait for you to wake up.”

Frodo sat up, feeling the Ring against his skin. “For a moment, I was afraid everything had been a dream. The good and the bad…” Legolas smiled and knelt beside him. “I’m glad it was not a dream.” Legolas kissed him and Frodo returned it. “How far are we from the mountain?”

“It’s still a ways away,” Legolas said. “How’s the Ring?”

“As it always is. Heavy…seeking a foothold in my mind,” Frodo admitted. “Taunting. But it’s been quiet lately.” Legolas pressed another kiss to Frodo’s cheek.

“Eat something.”

“Have we enough food to last?”

“We have enough to last till we get there. Back?” Legolas handed him an apple. “I don’t know. I can only hope we’ll have enough to last until we return to Gondor.”

 _If we return_ , Frodo added silently. Legolas shot him a sharp look and he winced. “Sorry.”

Legolas crossed his legs. “I know a lot rides on your success, Frodo, but I really wish you’d not act like we’ll not survive. I know you need to succeed, but you are stronger than you seem—”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” Legolas snapped. “You know things about the Ring that you didn’t know before, you’ve gone this far and resisted each temptation it threw your way. I can’t tell if you _want_ to throw your life away or not but you’ve gotten into this mindset that it’s the ‘only way’ you’ll succeed and it’s _not_ , Frodo! I will be _damned_ if we don’t get out of this alive! The least you can do is give yourself enough credit that you can let the Ring go when we get to the mountain! I believe you can. We’re already so close to the end of the journey. Can we not let go of the hope we still have? I know you’ll succeed, and you’ll live to tell the tale of it.”

“I’m trying to be realistic.”

“After a while, realistic became negativity,” Legolas said. Frodo blinked. He stood, annoyed by how shaky his legs felt beneath him and approached Legolas. He kissed him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I will keep that in mind, _men Ghivasha_.” He finished eating and tossed the core into the fire as he stood. His legs shook beneath him and he grabbed Legolas’ shoulder to keep from collapsing as he shook his legs. He could tell Legolas was trying not to laugh and he wasn’t going to rebuke him. Instead, he glared mockingly at him.

“Need help.”

“I’m afraid my legs won’t regain their strength if you carry me,” Frodo said. “I’d rather avoid being carried if I can help it.”

He lowered his hand and killed the fire by stamping on it despite Legolas’ protests at that. Hobbit feet were tougher than that and if it took Legolas looking over the soles of his feet to assure his husband of that, then he could waste another few minutes being subjected to some poking and prodding.

Once satisfied that Frodo was as all right as he had claimed, Legolas smacked the back of his head in retaliation for frightening him and they left the cave.

#

His legs shook with each step and the chain cut into his neck painfully. They’d been walking all day, taking frequent breaks so Frodo could rest, but just before it stretched too long, he’d stand again and insist on walking despite Legolas’ protests that they stop.

They were so close. It seemed foolish to stop now. Another hour passed before Frodo’s vision swam and he collapsed next to a pool. Legolas righted him.

“That is it for today. You need to sleep.”

“Can’t—”

“You can. I’m here,” Legolas stroked his cheek. “I’m here. You are safe, _Melleth_.” Frodo shook his head.

“There’s no such thing as safe in this land.”

“You know what I mean,” Legolas said, sitting beside him and his arm wrapped around Frodo’s shoulder. Frodo managed a weak chuckle. They stayed there for too short a moment before Legolas lifted him up. Frodo whined. “It’s too open here for my liking.”

“Okay.”

“I told you I felt something!” A scratchy voice shouted.

“An Elf and the Halfling!” Another voice screamed. Frodo opened his eyes just as Legolas set him down, and pulled out his daggers. Three Orcs circled them, weapons drawn and sneering. Frodo unsheathed Sting and willed his fatigue away unsuccessfully.

 _This isn’t good,_ he thought as his vision swam and his feet swayed. _Not good at all._

The Orcs lunged at them, Frodo managed to dodge the one that targeted him while Legolas managed to slay one and parry the other’s blow, tossing him toward the water. Frodo tried to jump aside, but the Orc seized his shirt and Frodo fell, screaming, into the water.

Frodo swam up and broke the surface. Legolas helped him climb back out. His skin stung and he couldn’t stop coughing. Legolas was speaking, but what he was saying, Frodo wasn’t sure.

His clothes were pulled off and Legolas lathered an ointment onto the wounds as. He gripped Frodo’s hair. Before Frodo could stop him, his locks were cut close to his head. Legolas did the same to his feet, tears streaming down his eyes.

Frodo kept coughing until blood and bile passed through his lips. “Why?” he asked, voice croaking as he stared at the damaged hair. Legolas pulled him into his arms protectively.

“It was burning you,” Legolas said, tears streaking his cheeks as he rocked Frodo. “I couldn’t think of any other way to make it stop, I’m sorry, Frodo. I didn’t know what else to do.”

The sheered locks were steaming and curling on the ground. Legolas wrapped Frodo in his cloak as he stripped one of the Orcs—who was barely taller than Frodo in height—of his clothes before tossing the corpse into the water.

Plagued by another coughing fit, Frodo turned away, heaving more blood onto the ground but he took the clothes and dressed, trying not to look at his hair. As the burning subsided, he felt the air of Mordor sting his neck and his ears. Legolas lifted him in his arms and they ran until Legolas found another cave. He inspected it before deeming it suitable for resting in and brought Frodo inside.

Legolas chanted prayers to Elbereth and sang softly, kissing Frodo. His tears stung Frodo’s wounds, but Frodo didn’t tell him that. He kept coughing. Legolas made him drink water, hoping to soothe his throat and control the coughing fits.

“Get some sleep,” Legolas said. Frodo shook his head. “Frodo—”

“We need to keep moving.”

“Frodo—”

“Please,” Frodo said. “Legolas, I’m scared. I just want to get rid of the Ring and get out of here as soon as possible.” Legolas grit his teeth and looked around.

“Get down!” Legolas shouted, covering Frodo with his body as a flash of light shone over them. The Ring burned his skin and Frodo whimpered, clutching Legolas’ tunic. He could see the Eye and he shuddered.

 _Put me on_ , the Ring taunted. _Put me on. Put me on. Put me on._

 _No!_ Frodo thought, closing his eyes and burying his face in Legolas’ chest. The light turned away and Legolas lifted himself off Frodo. “What do you see?” Frodo asked.

“An army stands outside the gates,” Legolas said. “At the head of it is Aragorn with Gimli, Boromir, Gandalf, and Eomer. Sauron is calling his army out to meet them in battle.” He lifted Frodo up. “We have to go now.” He ran.

Frodo held onto him, arms around his neck as Legolas ran, telling him how much further they had to go. Telling him when they made it to the foot of the mountain and how much time it would take to get to the temple embedded into the earth that made the peak.

Something crashed into them and Frodo screamed when his back collided with rocks. Gollum jumped onto him. “Give it to us!” he screamed. “Give us the precious!”

Frodo kicked him in the chin and scrambled to his feet. Gollum screeched, grabbing his ankle. Then his fingers weren’t there anymore. Legolas held Gollum in a choke hold.

“Go!” he shouted. Frodo ran. Once inside the temple, he was hit with a familiar wave of heat.

 _Cast it into the fire!_ Elrond had shouted.

Why did he ever refuse?

_Use me. I will bring you glory. I will give you everything your heart desires._

At the time, such a promise would have tempted him. And he had let it. It was trying again, desperate. Frodo sighed. _I have a family who loves me. A husband I adore…and I have friends waiting for me. I already have everything my heart could ever want._

The Ring was strangely silent. Frodo grinned as he approached the ledge. He lifted the chain from around his neck and pulled the ring off it and let the chain fall to the ground. Frodo prepared to throw it.

“NO!!! MY PRECIOUS!!!”

Hands grabbed at Frodo’s fist and Frodo lashed out at Gollum. “Gollum, let go!” he shouted.

“It’s _mine!!!_ ” Gollum shouted. Frodo wedged his foot between them, kicking Gollum back. They both fell and the Ring flew from Frodo’s hand. He reached out for it and the Ring landed on his finger a though it was a tossing ring at a carnival booth.

The world encases in shadow.

“As I have told you before,” a voice echoed. Frodo turned to it and felt his body freeze. He couldn’t move. The armored figure approached him, reached for him. “You will never succeed. You can try as many times as you like, but you will fall each time.”

Behind Sauron, Frodo spied Legolas.

_“Frodo!!”_

Frodo turned to Sauron again. “Says you,” he said, yanking the Ring off and throwing it.

Gollum screamed and jumped after it falling off the cliff as he made to catch it. Frodo stared where Gollum once stood, horror filling him like lead. Legolas pulled him up and carried him out of the temple just as the mountain began to shake and the earth cracked beneath them. Lava rose, following them out of the mountain. Legolas climbed onto a ledge and set him down.

“Now what?” Frodo asked.

“I don’t know,” Legolas answered, sitting down. Frodo coughed and clutched at his throat. His body shook, as pain overtook him and he wept. Legolas pulled him into his arms, whispering that he’ll be okay. That they’ll make it back home and see their family again.

“Frodo? Frodo, don’t fall asleep. Stay with me, _melleth_. Please…”

 _I can’t,_ he tried to say. _I’m too tired…_


	31. Chapter 31

_What happens now? Where do I go from here now that I’ve completed what I’ve set out to do? What am I supposed to do with the years I have left?_

Such questions plagued Frodo as he recovered, staring at the ceiling above him in the House of Healing of Minas Tirith.

Three days ago, he and Legolas were rescued by the Eagles of Manwe and flown out of Mordor. Both were immediately taken to the house of healing. Aragorn had made him drink a bitter tea made from Athelas to help with the brunt of the internal bleeding. He needed to drink it frequently. Paste made from athelas was rubbed into his wounds.

He heard Gimli arguing with Aragorn the second morning.

“I do understand the cultural ramifications that come with cutting hair,” Aragorn said. “But had Legolas not done so, Frodo’s burns could’ve been much worse than they ended up being, Gimli. Legolas may not be a healer, but had he not cut the hair, Frodo might have died before we got to him. Frodo will not lose his honor because he lost some _hair_.”

Frodo didn’t think Aragorn understood the implications as well as he said he did.

“Where is Legolas?” he asked, voice scratchier than he remembered.

Aragorn patted his hand. “Legolas is well. He is asleep right now, but will be allowed to leave the house tomorrow.”

“What happened since I saw you all last?”

Aragorn licked his lips. “Boromir called for Rohan’s aid and Théoden answered. Minas Tirith was besieged by the Orcs of Mordor, led by the Witch King of Angmar. The battle lasted three days, ending with Eowyn slew Angmar, trying to save Théoden. He passed away in battle. She is still healing from he own injuries as well, but she is walking around again and her arm, which was broken, is healing well enough. Boromir and Eowyn have been conspiring to get their brothers together.”

Frodo chuckled weakly. “Seems things are changing for Men.”

“Hopefully for the better,” Aragorn agreed. “After that battle, we laid siege to the Black Gates, hoping to give you and Legolas a chance to destroy the Ring. We guess it worked since you succeeded and are now here. There’s also been a debate to who will be named the king of Gondor.”

“It should be you.”

“But it could also be you.”

Frodo shook his head. “I was already king of Gondor and Arnor and I screwed it up. Isildur’s time has come and passed. And while he and I carry the same soul, I am not Isildur. Nor will I ever be fit to rule Men. I’m a Hobbit of Erebor and I was never raised to be a king. Nor do I really want to be. The throne goes to you if you will have it.” Aragorn nodded, humming. “I’ve one last question: Why am I here? I thought I was going to die.”

“You almost did. You fell into a poisoned pool and it’s a miracle you got out as quickly as you did. You remember Legolas cutting your hair? Had he not done that—”

“I could’ve died?”

“Yes. But not from the external wounds,” Aragorn said. “The internal wounds were worse. It might be years before you’re as well as you were before. You’re likely to have episodes still, but I’ve been working on a formula based on Elfish medicine to make them easier to manage. You’re immunity to disease and sickness has worsened too.”

“All that from falling into a pool?”

“A poisoned pool, getting stabbed by a morgul blade _twice,_ and getting stabbed by a spider,” Aragorn said. “You are extremely tenacious for someone who knew you might die on this quest.”

“I must have some Vala on my side to have survived,” Frodo said. “Or just an obscene amount of luck.”

“I’d say both,” Aragorn said, smiling. “I would suggest staying in Gondor for a while before going home. I’d prefer it if you stayed so I could keep an eye on you, but I know the journey south would take its toll on your uncles and I know you’ll want to see them again. Plus it might be better telling them you’re alive and well in person.”

“Well? Is that relatively speaking?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“They’re going to be furious with me.”

“Why?”

“I got married without them knowing.”

“Ah. That’s true. You didn’t tell them yet?”

“It may have slipped my mind. The last time I wrote them was either before or after the Battle for Helm’s Deep. Now, are there any commands for what I must do to speed my recovery?”

“No solid food until the hemorrhaging stops completely,” he said. “You’ll still have episodes, but if we can get the internal injuries to stop, you’ll likely survive to live a long time. External injuries are healing really well. You’ll have a lot of interesting scars to show off when you get home.”

“Will my hair grow back?”

Aragorn silenced. He licked his lips and sighed. “I don’t know. If not…”

“Then I’ll likely take a leaf out of a mentor’s book and get tattoos,” Frodo said, smiling. “My uncle Bilbo would _love_ that.” Aragorn snickered, handing him a cup of tea. Frodo wrinkled his nose as he drank. “Athelas tea tastes like piss.”

“Medicine, I’ve found, usually does,” Aragorn said, taking the cup away. “But tomorrow, you can start drinking water, broth, and better tasting teas.” He stood. “Would you like to see the others?”

Frodo nodded and Aragorn squeezed his shoulder, leaving the room. Frodo was alone only a moment before Legolas entered and kissed him. Frodo returned the kiss. “Did I scare you?”

“More than I thought you would.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’ll have to do better than that, you ass,” Legolas said, pressing a kiss to Frodo’s forehead. “I’m sorry about your hair.”

“I’ll find a way to live,” Frodo joked He scooted over for Legolas to lie beside him—too many of the beds here were Man sized, including the one Frodo rested in. “Am I really in that much trouble with you.”

“It could be worse,” Legolas said. “If you died, I’d have sailed to Valinor just to kick your ass.” Frodo giggled, hiding hid face in Legolas’ chest.

“Frodo Baggins!” Gimli shouted. Frodo laughed and Legolas glared at the Dwarf as Gimli jumped onto the bed and grabbed Frodo’s shirt, shaking him. “I ought to punt you over the wall and dance over your bloodied carcass for the scare you put me through!”

Frodo pried him off, laughing. “I’m sorry, but as you see, I’m alive and I’m sure you’ll be punted by my healer and my husband if you tried anything.”

“I’d punt him to what remains of Mordor,” Legolas muttered.

“Keep telling yourself that, Elf. I don’t appreciate getting scathing letters from your uncles and cousins about what’ll happen to my beard and anatomy if you didn’t come home.”

Frodo winced. “It was colorful?”

“Vividly.”

“Well, as you see, I’m alive and we don’t need to tell them how bad my injuries are…yet. Right?” Legolas sighed, pulling Frodo into a protective hug. “Bring me a stationary and I’ll write them. Okay?” Gimli grumbled, but agreed, sitting cross legged on the bed and arms crossed over his chest. “While I do that, you should write Ara,” Frodo said. Gimli’s cheeks tinged. “Or perhaps the lady Galadriel?”

“Shut it!”

Legolas kissed Frodo’s cheek as Boromir entered. “I believe this is a house of healing. It’s supposed to be calm and relaxing atmosphere and yet I get the feeling Dwarves don’t know what that means…”

“I’ll stick my foot up your ass,” Gimli growled at him.

“How’s the matchmaking going?” Frodo asked. Boromir shrugged.

“Eomer and Faramir seem to get along well enough now that they’re done yelling at Eowyn and me. I’m waiting for him to ask Faramir if he’d mind being courted so I can threaten him.”

“Ah, has he?”

“Yep. Except, um, I think Eowyn would do the horrific, unmentionable things Eomer threatened me with long before he got the chance to.”

Frodo hummed. He could see her doing that. Aragorn returned to make Frodo drink more tea and ushered everyone out when Frodo went into a coughing fit that wracked his entire body until his muscles spasmed and he blacked out.

#

The attacks, as Aragorn called them, were not good, but he was certain they’d lessen given time. They happened more frequently than Frodo liked them to and he’d wake hours later, feeling worn out and ill. A healer or Aragorn or Legolas would make him drink athelas tea whenever he woke. On the fifth day of his hospitalization, Frodo was able to get out of bed and go to the bathroom and back, slowly regaining his ability to walk, short though they were.

Gimli gifted him a cane to use so he could go outside—a week after he started walking again and was able to drink things other than the god-awful tea. He still coughed, but it wasn’t as bad as it was before. He stayed outside, letting the sun warm his face and the fresh breeze caressed him. It felt right.

Through the month of their return, the tree bloomed diamond white flowers and emerald green leaves. Frodo sat under it with a stationary beside him and writing a letter to his uncles, assuring them he’d be home as soon as he was able. He told them he would tell of his quest in full when he returned. He left out how bad his injuries were because he knew his family would come to Gondor if they knew. Even if the roads were safer now, Gondor was still too great a journey for his old uncles and little Bíli to make.

Besides, he’d be happier once he was back home in Erebor. Whether he’d be able to stay there after all that had happened since, he wasn’t sure. A part of him was longing for a more peaceful place. A greener place…he had never missed the Shire while he lived in Erebor. His family made sure of that. But it tugged on him like a mother calling to her child.

Perhaps in time, he would see it again. Roam the hills his uncle told him about, see the lake where his parents had passed and lay flowers on the shore. Meet the people Bilbo told him of, the relatives he never knew.

“Have you been here long?” Legolas asked.

“I suppose.”

“You seem morose, _melleth_.” Legolas kissed his fingers. “What is it?”

Frodo shrugged. “I want to see the Shire,” he said. “It’s almost like it’s calling to me.”

Legolas kissed his hand again. “Then we will go to the Shire when the time is right. At the moment, though, there’s a coronation to get ready for. The Elves of Rivendell, Lothlorien and Mirkwood have arrived.”

“You’re father?”

“No. I will be leading them in his stead. I’m not sure if I’m relieved he couldn’t come or annoyed,” Legolas said. “But I’ve still no idea how I’ll tell him we’ve married.”

Frodo nodded. He didn’t know how he was going to tell his family that himself. A little more time would give him an idea of how he’d tell them. He shared another kiss with Legolas, fingers twined together.

“I love you,” Frodo said.

“And I love you,” Legolas said, helping him up. “Let’s get ready. It’d be a shame if you weren’t able to attend your own descendant’s coronation.”

“We aren’t blood related anymore!”

“Still the chance of a lifetime,” Legolas said, winking.


	32. Chapter 32

Frodo tightened the belt around his waist before picking up the newly tailored jacket. It was made by Men, but Dwarven in style with a silver wolf’s pelt standing out against the red fabric. It also bore a hood made of the same pelt, not that it’d be necessary in this weather.

He glanced in the mirror. His hair was slowly growing back and his feet, though bare, were starting to regain a bit of hair. It wasn’t perfect, but by the time he returned, he’d have a decent amount of hair again and that made him smile.

He picked up his earrings, stringing them through the holes in his ears. He figured he should consider getting a new piercing. A nose piercing. No necklace adorned his neck. He didn’t think he’d be able to wear one ever again if at all. Not after the scars left by the chain that held the Ring. He smiled. Bilbo would _love_ that. Frodo put the coat on before picking up an anklet to lock around his ankle.

“Are you ready yet?” Legolas asked, leaning against the wall.

“As ready as I think I’ll ever be,” Frodo said, grinning at him. He picked up the cane and followed Legolas to the tower. They parted when they came across the Elves. Legolas kissed him, promising to see him later. Frodo agreed and went to stand with Gandalf and Gimli. In Gimli’s hand was the newly fashioned crown of Gondor.

It began with Boromir and Faramir leading the army surrounding Aragorn, donned in the King’s armor. They parted, calling for attention as Aragorn approached. He knelt before Gandalf and swore to temper justice with mercy, to act with wisdom as his rod, and to rule the people humbly. Gandalf picked up the crown and set it on Aragorn’s head.

“Now come the days of the Kings!” Gandalf announced.

Frodo blinked. _Kings?!_ Another crown was produced, held in Gandalf’s hands. “But, I—”

“You did what you were destined to do,” Gandalf said, “And have succeeded. Your name will be recorded in history. All will know your name and sing songs in your honor, Frodo Ringbearer, the Reborn King of Gondor. Whether you rule or not is your decision, but you have earned your crown and so here it is.” It was smaller, meant for a smaller head, made of mithril leaves and golden lemon gem flowers. “Will you accept it?”

Frodo stared at the crown and swallowed. He glanced at Aragorn, who nodded. Frodo looked at Gadnalf again. “Only one will rule Gondor,” he said. “And I wish it to be Aragorn Elessar. This is known and accepted?”

“It is known. It is understood.”

“Then I will accept this crown,” he said, kneeling. His heart beat erratically in his chest as Gandalf placed the crown on his head. A crown he wasn’t sure he deserved.

Aragorn and Frodo left the stairs side by side. Legolas and Aragorn greeted each other. He grinned at Frodo and knelt, speaking in clear Sindarin:

“ _Hervenn nín, a hîr vuin,_ ” he said. “ _Gurendhir ná o hi ni methen. Aphadenni togeg ni orod egor amon mennai etulguruthos egor rása nahámë met bar. Man peddhir?_ ”

Frodo grinned and took his hand. “ _Digwaendhir, melda nín, suidhir obad._ ” He pressed his lips to Legolas’, ignoring the silence around them.

Elves too, though Elves were more sensible, at least. Frodo doubted it was the vows spoken or the kiss that sent Legolas’ people into taciturnity. Elves almost never married outside their race—well it was odd all over the place, if Frodo was to be fair, even if there were a couple tales where they did marry a mortal. He was sure no Elf had married a mortal as small as he before, though.

They broke apart in time to see Elrond present a beautiful brunette to Aragorn. “That would be Lady Arwen,” Legolas whispered to Frodo as Aragorn pulled her into a kiss which was slightly more welcomed than the one shared between them.

“His sister?” Frodo asked.

Legolas grinned. “Tell me we’ll still give them grief for that?”

“Always,” Frodo promised.

~Six Months Later~

Aragorn’s worries about Frodo’s health regressing during his return journey were more legitimate than Frodo had hoped they’d be. At least he didn’t need his cane anymore. Still, he had to be rushed to the healers because of an attack nearly as soon as he stepped into the mountain.

Now he was bedridden—Oin’s orders—in his room. He missed this bed and the fires and the stone. It was good to be home. Frodo spent a bit of time ignoring Oin’s demand that he stay in bed to familiarize himself with the room again. His foot hair was a decent length again, if still a bit short, and his hair was nearly to his nape, hiding some of the scars he had before.

He even managed a few old braids. One of status, one of marriage (he hadn’t seen his uncles yet, but at least he’d be entertained when he finally did see them again), and one of achievement. His crown was still in his pack last he saw it and he was pretty sure no one had touched it since his return.

Frodo took a brush to his feet until the hair was glossy and a little fluffy.

“Finally took the braids out?”

Frodo looked at Bilbo and grinned sheepishly. “There’s a funny story behind that, actually…well, depending on your definition of funny.”

Bilbo narrowed his eyes. “Is that a marriage braid in your hair?”

“That’s also a funny story.”

“I’m not sure I like your definition of ‘funny,’ Frodo.”

“The Ring’s destroyed. I’m back in one piece,” Frodo assured him. He could feel a coughing fit coming on and he massaged his throat, hoping to will it away.

“You were rushed to the healers the moment you entered the mountain.”

“I had an episode,” Frodo said, waving his hand. “I’m fine, I swear it, Uncle.”

“Oin is telling a different tale. You’ve stab wounds, burn wounds, symptoms of internal injury—”

“I am _fine_!” Frodo snapped just as a hacking cough overcame him. He covered his mouth with a handkerchief. Bilbo helped him back to the bed. “I really am okay,” he managed between coughs that shook his ribcage. “Uncle, I wasn’t expecting to survive the quest. That I did at any rate is good, isn’t it?”

Bilbo tucked a lock of hair behind Frodo’s ear. “Of course it is,” he agreed. “I just wish it didn’t have to be you, my boy.” He felt the marriage braid. “This is Elven. Legolas?”

“Yes,” Frodo said. Bilbo managed a smile.

“You are happy with him?”

“Very.”

“Then I am happy for you. I can’t say the same for Thorin, though.”

“I know.”

“You will tell us what happened while you were away, will you?” Bilbo asked. Frodo nodded. “Everything?”

“Depends what you mean by everything,” Frodo said, smirking. Bilbo whacked his arm lightly. “Fine, I’ll skip over certain parts that may or may not be child appropriate.” Bilbo shook his head.

“Don’t tease your uncle so, Frodo.”

Frodo smiled. “Yes, Uncle Bilbo,” he said, taking his hand in his. “I’m glad to be home,” he said, his grin ebbing away.

Bilbo kissed his fingers. “And we are glad you’re home too. We missed you so much, _mizimel_.” He stood. “When Oin thinks you’re able, we’ll have that feast Thorin’s been planning since you got home. I’ll let him know you’re well enough to joke. It’ll only mean your well enough to be yelled at, though, so brace yourself.”

“Okay,” Frodo said, his smile returning. “I’ll have a servant tell you if he goes to the healers after that. He’ll likely faint when I tell him _who_ I married.”

Bilbo laughed. “We’ll see, Frodo.” He stood. “We’ll see.”

~The End~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~Elfish~
> 
> Hervenn nín, a hîr vuin gurendhir ná o hi ni methen. Aphadenni togeg ni orod egor amon mennai etulguruthos egor rása nahámë met bar. Man peddhir? = My husband and my lord, my heart is yours from now to the end. I will follow where you lead be it to the mountain or the hills until death comes or the sea calls us home. What say you?
> 
> Digwaendhir, melda nín, suidhir obad. = I go with you, my beloved, as you go with me.


End file.
